


Hooked

by AnonEhouse



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brainwashing, Cryostasis, Historical References, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, New York World's Fair 1939-40, Prostitution, World War II, young Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:23:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 51,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1677998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/AnonEhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this story, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers are contemporaries, and both have hard-knock lives in 1939-1941 New York. Hard to say whose is worse. Steve is sickly. Tony's a whore. They become friends-- the world is going crazy with war, adding to the tension of daily life.</p><p>Tony is/was an underage prostitute, but as that's not explicit*, I felt the warning tag was misleading, however if even that much is disturbing, I thought I'd best mention it here.</p><p>CHAPTER 22 became EXPLICIT (consensual, not prostitution) Sex, but at the time Tony was 17 years old, 10 months, and some days, so it's not all that MUCH underage. There was no explicit sex when he was younger.</p><p>(There's tons of Google Research in the times and events of daily life in NYC and world events. Where reasonable, factoids have been woven into the story, but there's a lot left over that wound up in chapter notes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caught

**Author's Note:**

> To make Tony's backstory work, I need him to be old enough to remember Howard when the stock market crashed in Oct 1929, and old enough not to be a child hooker (underage, yes, but in those days you matured early) when he meets Steve, but not quite old enough to be involuntarily drafted (younger than 18) when the draft began in Sept 1940. 
> 
> So- Tony was born May 10, 1923 & I went with movie version July 4, 1918 birthdate* for Steve-but gave him comic canon Steve's height because tall, skinny Steve is even more adorably gawky to me than the short version.
> 
> *The film version says he was born on July 4th, 1918 and turned into a superhero aged 21, but I don't think the math is right. Steve would have been 21 from July 1939 to June 1940, but since the draft wasn't approved until Sept 1940 it seems unlikely Bucky would have enlisted (he was protective of Steve & wouldn't have left NY unless he had to) and so on... So I'm giving Steve that birthdate, but he's going to be trying to enlist in March 1941, 4 months short of age 23.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

"OW!" Tony yelled as loud as he could. Sometimes people who were beating you up got embarrassed if you made a big fuss. Sometimes, of course, they tried to shut you up by hitting harder. It was a toss-up.

"HEY!" A man shouting from the head of the alley distracted Mr. Big Fists/Tiny Dick long enough for Tony to punch him in the balls, and get his wallet. He took a sawbuck and threw the wallet at the groaning John before he ran out of the alley. Tony grabbed the arm of the gaping onlooker and tugged, but the tall, skinny blond stood his ground.

"You're a thief!"

Tony shook his head. "No! I was just getting what was due! He tried to stiff me!" He rolled his eyes. "Look, he's gonna think you're my protection. Do you really wanna get beat up over a mistake?"

The blond frowned. "Protection? Me?" He was not only skinny, but he had a days' old shiner and a healing cut high on his cheekbone. He really didn't look like he'd won the battle.

"Well, you saved my ass this time. C'mon, hero." He pulled at the blond's sleeve. "I'll buy you a burger. You look like a burger kinda guy." The blond started to move, at least. He pulled his arm away from Tony and started moving down the street, scowling fiercely. Tony thought that was sexy. In fact, Mr. Tall, Blond, and Pipestem was extremely sexy. Tony tagged along with him, dragging out a handkerchief and spit-licking a corner to wipe blood off his face. The asshole had been wearing a ring with a big stone- glass, Tony could tell. 

"I don't need your charity, Mister."

"Wasn't offering charity. Hey, my name's Tony." He got in front of the blond, walking backwards and holding out his right hand. "What? No, it's ok. I used my left hand."

"Used your left hand for what?" The blond frowned in adorable confusion and then his eyes went wide. "You...you're a... a..."

"Working girl?" Tony batted his eyelashes. He figured skinny probably couldn't hit very hard. "It's a living. You know, times are hard." He dropped his hand and spun away. "See you around, Sport." He tried to keep his disappointment to himself. He'd liked blondie's looks and thought it might be nice to talk with someone as if he was a real person.

"Wait. My name's Steve. Steve Rogers."

Tony stopped and turned back. Rogers was holding out his hand. Tony grinned and shook hands with him. "Tony Stark. Really, let's go get coffee and a burger. I know a classy place- pretty sure most of the meat at least came in third at Belmont."

 

Steve was an all-right guy, Tony decided while they were eating. Maybe he didn't have much of a sense of humor, but that was ok, Tony had enough for the both of them. "More coffee, miss?" Tony said, smiling at the petite waitress and holding up his heavy ceramic mug. He liked the weight of it. It'd probably hold up well in a fight. 

"Do you flirt with everybody?" Steve asked as he chased the last of his fried potato through a puddle of mayo, ketchup and mustard. Steve was a barbarian when it came to food.

"I'm a friendly sorta fella," Tony replied, swiveling his stool around to take in the other customers, most of whom looked gloomy, and tired. "Cheer up! Smiles are free! Everything else is negotiable!"

Steve groaned and dropped his face into his hands. "You're embarrassing me, Tony."

"Really?" Tony hopped off the red leather stool and stood in the middle of the cracked gray linoleum and threw out his arms. And began singing. 

"Folks here's a story 'bout Minnie the Moocher;  
she was a red hot hoochie coocher.  
She was the roughest toughest frail;  
but Minnie had a heart as big as a whale.

Hi de hi de hi de hi  
Ho de ho de ho de ho  
Hee de hee de hee de hee  
Ho oo waooo waoooo."

One woman smiled, but most of the people just shook their heads or looked away from him while doggedly eating their food.

"Tony, your coffee's getting cold," Steve said.

Tony turned back and sighed. "People like it when Cab Calloway sings that song."

Steve said, "Mr. Calloway is an experienced entertainer. You know how to get to Carnegie Hall?"

"Um, no?" Tony sat back on the chair and added sugar to his coffee. 

"Practice, Tony, practice." The corner of Steve's mouth turned up slightly.

Tony sputtered coffee. "A joke! Steve, you made a joke! Good for you!"

 

After that, they saw each other around the neighborhood from time to time. Tony knew better than to work the more lucrative areas- those were all staked out and freelancers were made very unwelcome. Getting his face slashed wouldn't help business. Tony really hated going hungry, and being cold. Sucking someone's dick and getting enough money for a meal and a nice warm flop, well, sucking dick sucked less than poverty, in Tony's opinion.

He was walking a loop around 'his' territory, cap pushed back to let what little sun made it through the buildings shine on his face, showing off the smoothness of his never been shaved cheeks. Having a round, baby face at sixteen sometimes felt discouraging, but he had memories of his father's neat mustache to give him hope. All he's got are memories, though. Dad's partner stole what little was left after the stock market crash of '29 when Tony was six. Kids in the orphanage taunted him about Tony's folks jumping hand in hand from a skyscraper. They'd point to a stain on cement and say 'that was the place, you're lucky they didn't take you with them.'

He used to wonder about that. The church said heaven was a great place. Then he wised up. If people were in heaven, it was much the same as here, with the rich and powerful doing what they wanted, and everyone else doing what they could. Tony was smart, but there were a hell of a lot of smart grown men, with skills and families to support so it didn't matter how hard he studied in the public library, or how he could figure out what was wrong with machines just by looking at them, no one was going to hire a kid with no formal education and no references.

But they sure didn't mind fucking him. 

Tony glanced in alleys as he went by, taking note of which ones had become home to bums. Rummies could get really nasty if you tried turning tricks near their crate palaces. He heard a scuffle, and saw a flash of blond hair set atop a familiar set of skinny shoulders, just barely visible past the brawny guy punching away. Oh, Steve. He was always fighting out of his weight class. "HEY!" he shouted. "This is my alley, I work here! Don't get blood all over it, it puts off my customers!"

Big and ugly turned to face Tony. "G'wan outta here, you pansy."

Tony grinned and made an obscene gesture he'd learned from an Irish grocer. It was elegant in its simplicity, and beautifully evocative. Big Ugly cursed and ran at Tony. When he was close enough, Tony brought up his other hand and punched the guy in the chin. He went down like a sack of rocks. "Ow," Tony said.

Steve came up, panting and annoyed. "I had things under control."

"Sure, but why should I let you have all the fun?" Tony winced and opened his hand. He was holding a broken roll of pennies, and some of them spilled out onto the pavement. 

Steve frowned. "That's dirty fighting."

"And it hurts, too. Next time I'll kick him in the crotch." Tony shook his hand and winced again, a little theatrically, trying for sympathy.

"Come on." Steve sighed. "I've got arnica and rags in my room."

 

Tony didn't make any wisecracks as they went up the stairs. Steve's place was a respectable, if shabby, tenement and he didn't want to cause trouble. The landlady had been sweeping the front stoop when they arrived, and she'd given Steve a swift once-over look, and then a long stare at Tony before resuming work. He felt as if he'd been given a mug shot, complete with number and m.o.

Steve put his hand on the railing and started up. "I have to go slow," he explained. "The dust... you know?"

"Uh huh," Tony said as he went up at Steve's pace. He'd sat with Steve through a few 'can't catch my breath' moments and while Steve hadn't got around to saying what was wrong with him Tony figured it for something more than general weediness. "Yeah, these old houses. You know, when I was a kid, and they told me 'out of dust thou came, and unto dust shalt thou return' I was afraid to look under the bed because I was sure someone was either coming or going."

Steve laughed. "You were a strange kid."

"But never dull!" 

"No, never dull." Steve smiled at him, and Tony had to fight down urges that would be certain to offend. Steve was just too... wholesome. He hadn't even been kissed by a girl, Tony would lay odds. 

They made their leisurely way up the three flights to a cold water flat pretty much the same as any other. Notable details included a clawfoot bathtub covered with a tablecloth draped board to serve as a table when it wasn't being used for laundry or bathing, small porcelain sink near a WPA black iron stove awaiting coal, one small pretty table with inlaid wood designs, and a door leading to a bedroom. The door was ajar, so Tony could see a shabby dresser and the corner of a neatly made plain bed.

And there was a window. "Hey, you've got a view!" Tony leaned backwards out of the small window, ignoring the clotheslines strung across the alley between Steve's building and a neighboring one, to look past the buildings. "There's a tree! Well, a few branches and leaves, anyway. Beats my flop all hollow."

"It's ok. Bucky and I like it better than the last place we lived." Steve opened a metal box screwed into the wall near the sink. "C'mere and let me look at your hand."

"Uh huh." Tony came back into the room fully. "Bucky?" He went to Steve and held out his hand.

"My best friend, Bucky Barnes." Steve turned Tony's hand over. "You gotta keep your arm all in a line when you punch. That was sloppy." Steve began rubbing arnica paste into Tony's reddened knuckles.

"It worked," Tony protested. He was feeling a little, just a little, jealous of this Bucky, who got to live with Steve and be his best friend.

"It wouldn't have without the roll of pennies." 

Tony huffed and looked around the room for distraction. Steve was very close, and he was gently touching Tony. A distraction was necessary. "So, where did you and Bucky live before you moved into this mansion?"

"Angel Guardian Home," Steve said shortly. He bent his head down as if he had to concentrate on wrapping a clean rag around Tony's hand.

"I was in the Asylum. Brooklyn Orphan Asylum," Tony added, with a grin. "Nice places to be _from_." And then he found himself leaning in towards Steve. It just felt inevitable, like gravity. His jaw relaxed and he tilted his head, aiming for Steve's mouth, all pink and inviting.

The door to the flat opened. "Hey, Steve..." 

Tony snapped to attention, taking a hasty step back and to the side, so he could face the newcomer. Not as tall as Steve, but well-built, with a healthy look to his complexion, thick, dark hair, and sharp, blue-gray, eyes. He had apparently been taking off his coat and stopped with it hanging from one arm. He frowned and looked from Tony to Steve and then back again. "Huh."

"Oh, hi, Buck, this is Tony." Steve was talking fast, as if he was embarrassed. Tony looked at him. Steve was blushing. But he was also still holding Tony's hand. "He's... he got into a fight."

"Don't look like a fighter to me," Bucky said. He hung his coat up on a nail in the wall and then turned back to them. "I've seen you around, Tony." His voice was flat. "I have _seen_ you."

"Look, if this is a problem, I can go. Thanks, Steve." Tony tried to pull his hand free, but for a stick-thin guy, Steve had strong hands, and he didn't let go.

"Buck?" Steve asked, "Tony's my friend, too."

Bucky scowled and grabbed a chair, turning it around to sit on it backwards, leaning his arms on the backrest. "Tony's been around the block a lot more than you have, Steve."

"I'm not a child, Bucky. For heaven's sake, I'm five years older than him."

"It's not the years, it's the mileage, right, Mr. Barnes?" Tony said. Wouldn't you know it, the one good thing he finds, he can't have, because he'd ruin it. Bucky's right about that, Tony's no good for Steve, not even as a friend. Wasn't he going to kiss Steve just now and ruin everything?

Bucky nodded. He held up his hand when Steve looked fit to burst with protests. "You know, Steve, I should have seen it- the way you'd duck out of double dates, and wouldn't even hardly look at the girls on the beach."

"They didn't like _me_ ," Steve protested. "And it's not polite to stare. I like girls, I like them fine."

"Uh huh," Bucky said. "Look, just... for the love of God, use French letters. You know where he's been." He turned his attention to Tony while Steve was making strangled noises. "And you! Steve's been in and out of hospitals all his life. He can't _afford_ to catch anything."

"I'm not made of glass, Bucky!" Steve said, frowning in irritation. "What do you want to do, lock me up in a display case?"

"I just don't want you to be hurt! In any way!" Bucky lunged to his feet, knocking over the chair. He poked Tony in the chest. "I don't care what you do to get by. There's worse things than hooking, even the kind you do. I do care about Steve. Got it?" Tony nodded. Bucky gave him one long stare, then he grabbed up his coat and left the flat, slamming the door behind him so hard that it didn't latch and bounced back to hit the wall with an extra crash.

"Sorry about that." Steve finally let go of Tony's hand and went over to shut the door. He turned back to face Tony. "Um. Bucky's sort of...like my big brother. At least he thinks he is. He worries about me."

"Yeah, I can see that. Is he right, though? I mean, I know it's none of my business, but... how sick are you?" Tony didn't really want to ask, but he had to know.

Steve ran a hand through his hair. "Doctors don't know everything. I'm good." He smiled. "They're all 'take it easy, don't take risks, sit on the sidelines and watch the parade.' I don't want to do that, Tony. I want to... I want you."

"What if I kill you?" Tony wanted, oh, yes, he wanted. Steve was so earnest, so honest, and so beautiful, like one of his sketches, pared down to just the essential lines.

"You won't kill me." Steve tapped on his chest. "I take responsibility for my own life, Tony. I do what I want with it. I'll explain that to Bucky later."

Tony's mouth had gone dry. "What do you want to do, Steve?"

"I... I don't know exactly." Steve sighed. "I didn't lie to Bucky, I like girls fine. But I feel... when I look at guys, it's...different, but the same? And I... well, I feel that way more when I'm with you than any girls I've ever met."

Tony came up to Steve slowly and put his arms around him, hugging him close and putting his head against Steve's chest. "Maybe you just like me because I'm different from a nice, safe girl."

Steve tightened his arms around Tony. "I like you because you're you. I want you just because I do."

"You have to be sure about this, Steve. I don't have anything to lose, but you'd be risking a lot." Tony couldn't believe he was trying to talk Steve out of it. 

"I'm sure about you, Tony. I'm just not sure I can do what you'd like."

"Could you touch me? Could you, maybe, kiss me? I'd like that, no one wants to kiss a whore." Tony can't remember ever just 'petting' anyone, but with Steve, he's sure it would be good.

"Yeah." Steve stroked Tony's hair. "I'd really like to kiss you." 

Tony glanced over at the window. "Is there a window in the bedroom?"

Steve shook his head, and then he colored. "No, and Bucky keeps his rubbers in there."

Tony grinned. "Best friends share, don't they?"

"Yeah, they do."

 

There wasn't any place else to sit, so they sat on the bed. Steve had long legs, so this made them closer in height. Close enough that Tony didn't have to stretch to reach Steve's lips. Steve was honest in his kissing, as he was in everything else, and since it was the one area of sex where they were equal novices, they were awkward and nose-bumping clumsy. It was sweet, the first really sweet time Tony could recall ever having and he didn't want to spoil it just for the sake of getting his rocks off.

They kissed and touched each other through their clothes. Tony was hard, but he'd plenty of practice concentrating on the other guy's fun. Some of them didn't want him to come at all, and frankly, with a lot of his johns, it wasn't all that difficult to hold back. After a few minutes of heavy petting, Steve pulled back. He sighed and then leaned close, so their foreheads touched. "I thought we were gonna get undressed."

"Uh huh." Tony liked this, being close without feeling like a whore. "We could do that." He put both arms around Steve, who was breathing more heavily and raggedly than Tony felt the situation called for. 

"Sex isn't going to kill me."

"I know. I know you're a lot tougher than Bucky thinks." Tough in his mind and spirit, but Tony wasn't really so sure about his body. But then, would Tony have wanted to stay a virgin all his life, just to live a little longer? Hardly seems worth it.

"I want to see you, Tony. I want to see all of you."

Tony smiled. That was another thing that hardly ever happened. Working on the edges of other whores' territories, Tony had to be ready to run at a moment's notice. It wasn't as if any of his customers wanted to spring for a hotel room, not even the kind that charged by the hour. He began unbuttoning his shirt. By the time he slipped it off his shoulders Steve's eyes were wide open with his pupils blown black with arousal. Tony knew all the signs; it was his profession after all. "Hey, you'd see more than this at Coney Island."

"Yeah," Steve said, his voice husky and even more sexy than before. "But I couldn't _look_ , not really. And I couldn't touch." He ran his right hand over the contours of Tony's chest, from the smooth curve of clavicle to the weird indent Tony had above his breastbone, down along the ribs... at that point Tony squirmed and Steve paused. 

"Ticklish," Tony explained. He grabbed Steve's hand and pressed it more firmly against his side. "Don't tip-toe. Strut."

Steve laughed a little, cut off short with a cough. "I'm not the strutting type, Tony." But his lean, strong hands obeyed, claiming Tony's skin possessively.

"You should be. You... You're a great guy, Steve." Tony didn't want to get too mushy. They weren't girls.

"I'd look silly." Steve coughed again. He waved at Tony. "You can..." Steve wheezed, "get away with it. You're little... but..." He waved his hands again.

Tony was becoming alarmed. "Jesus, Steve, your lips are turning blue. Maybe you should lie down?" Tony fluttered his hands around Steve, wanting to help, but scared of making matters worse.

"No." Steve wheezed and coughed after he got out the single word. He was white-faced and sweating. "Haa... Hold me? If... I lie down... I can't..."

"Yeah, sure, Steve, sure." Tony turned to get on the bed behind Steve with his legs spread around and then he pulled Steve back to his chest. Steve was breathing in short, rapid gasps.

"Hurts," Steve said quietly, not as if he was complaining, but just to let Tony know. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just... be better." Tony rubbed his hands over Steve's arms and chest. "You're all tied up in knots." Tony wanted it to be a joke, but he could feel the tightness of the muscle in Steve's chest, and when he raised his hands to check, Steve's neck muscles were just as tight. "Oh, god, I hope I haven't killed you."

Steve leaned back, letting Tony take his weight. "Doc... told me... all in my head."

Tony made an exasperated noise. "Sure, that's it, blame you for being sick. Damn quack." Tony kept rubbing Steve's chest, hoping it would help.

"Said was... like baby cryin' for momma. Momma's boy."

"Steve, the last thing you are is a momma's boy." Tony risked a quick kiss to the side of Steve's neck. "Really, were you wanting your mother just now?"

Steve shook his head. 

"Didn't think so." Tony held Steve for the longest time, talking about random things, about spaghetti bolognese at the diner, about a shiny car he'd admired on the street, about the truly amazing chin whiskers Steve's landlady had growing, about anything that popped into his head, until Steve's breathing evened out and his body relaxed.

Steve sighed. "I don't think we're going to break into Bucky's tin of Romeos. I'm no good for anything after an attack." He pulled away from Tony and got off the bed, standing and stretching.

"Sure you are. C'mon," Tony said, "How about you draw me?" Tony leaned back against the wall, bending his knee to put one foot up on the bed. He grinned at Steve.

Steve smiled. "I can do that. But Tony, you shouldn't have your shoes on the bed."

Tony took off his shoes and wiggled his toes, which were visible through holes in the socks. "Better?"

Steve held up his thumb at arms' length and squinted. "Nope. It'll all have to go."

"Oh, well, anything for art." Tony stripped and piled his clothes in the corner. His erection had fled, which Tony supposed was a good thing. For art, anyway.

Steve just looked at Tony for a long moment before he fetched a sketchpad and a pencil. 

 

"You're really good for my ego," Tony said when Steve sat next to him on the bed later to show him the completed drawing. Tony knew he was good-looking; he depended on his looks for his livelihood, but whenever he glanced in a mirror the young man that looked back had a hard, cynical eye and a lip ready to sneer. Steve's Tony looked... Tony didn't have the words. But it wasn't a whore or a street rat looking back at him. This was still Tony, but with the edges softened by affection.

Steve smiled. "I just draw what I see."

Tony was tempted to make a crack about Steve needing glasses, but who was he to deny Steve the comfort of an illusion? Tony was a hard, cold, realist; a survivor who had discarded the expensive frills of morality, but he wasn't cruel. Steve didn't have much, let him keep his dreams. "Any time you need a model, Steve, I'm your man."

"Thanks." Steve ruffled Tony's hair. "I might take you up on it. If I could build a portfolio, maybe someday I could get a job at an ad agency, or maybe illustrations for the newspaper."

"Good idea. Maybe editorial cartoons? You've got enough opinions about the war going on in Europe!" Tony poked at Steve's side.

Steve poked back, but then he turned serious. "It's not funny, Tony. The world's on fire. The League of Nations is a toothless joke; Italy invaded Ethiopia, and Germany supported them. Japan's at war with China trying to take over all of Asia; Germany annexed Austria and wasn't satisfied with part of Czechoslovakia and now they've invaded Poland. No one seems to be able to stop them."

Tony nodded. "Yeah, but that's way, way over there. We've got to look out for ourselves, right here. There's the Neutrality Act, you know? Franklin agrees with me, we're not sending our boys into any foreign wars. I heard him on the radio. "

"Another Great War is coming, and America's got to be in it," Steve said. 

"Well, maybe," Tony said. Steve gave Tony a stern look. Tony threw his hands up in surrender. "Ok, yeah, I know how you feel about bullies. But even if we go to war, you're not thinking of going, are you? I mean..."

Steve's chin thrust out, stubbornly. "So I'm no Joe Louis, but I'm a man. If... _when_ we go to war, I'm not gonna be sitting at home knitting socks for soldiers."

"You know how to knit?" 

"That's what you say when I tell you I'm gonna be a soldier?"

"Well, I figure Bucky already said everything else and you didn't listen. You did tell him all this, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Steve shrugged. "He says he doesn't think they'd take me because I'm too skinny. What he really meant was that they'd figure I'd hold everyone back, and die without being a blind bit of use." His voice turned fierce. "I ain't gonna die uselessly, Tony. I promise you that."

"Better you don't die at all." Tony gave in to impulse and hugged Steve. "You're all I got, you know?"

"We could go halfsies on Bucky," Steve said with a grin, which faded when Tony looked thoughtful. "No!" Steve grabbed up a thin pillow and smacked Tony with it.

By the time they finished laughing and picking up all the feathers, the conversation had shifted to what was playing at the flickers. They finally decided to go see _Another Thin Man_. Steve argued that you couldn't go wrong with a mystery. Tony said you couldn't go wrong with Myrna Loy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Procrastinating, I've researched a lot of stuff-including movies that were released in 1939. According to Wikipedia, 1939 was Hollywood's greatest year. Here are some of the movies Steve and Tony saw.
> 
> Another Thin Man was released in November 17, 1939
> 
> Tarzan Finds a Son!June 16, 1939 (it was very silly, but Tarzan and Jane were eyecandy, so not terrible)  
> The Man in the Iron Mask(Tony found it depressing, all the good guys die) July 13, 1939  
> The Wizard of Oz August 25, 1939  
> The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes September 1, 1939


	2. Baked

"Toooooony."

Tony looked up at the sound of Steve's voice, but Steve wasn't leaning out of his window, waving the blue cloth that was their signal for 'Bucky's gone out'. He sounded further away.

"Yoo hooo, Tooooony. I'm up here!"

Tony tilted his head further back and saw Steve was up on the roof, leaning against Mr. Wilson's pigeon coop. "Hey, Steve! What are you doing up there?" It didn't snow much in the city, but it was awfully cold to be standing on the roof in shirtsleeves.

"I can see the Trylon and Perisphere from here!"

"Yeaaah." Steve wasn't even facing the right direction to see Flushing Meadows, even if the World's Fair wasn't blocked by a lot of buildings, and too far away. Tony hastened his steps towards Steve's tenement. "How many Asthmador cigarettes did you smoke?" 

"Only a couple, I ran out. But your friend Rhodey gave me something realllly nice." Steve giggled. "I feel so good."

"Great! Hey, Steve, why don't you talk to Mr. Wilson's pigeons until I can get up there!" Tony wasn't really afraid Steve would do anything stupid, but he was clumsy at the best of times, and whatever Rhodey had given him had done more than temporarily relieve Steve's chronic breathing problems.

"Sure, Tony!"

Tony went up the steps as fast as he could, arriving on the roof out of breath and relieved to see Steve peering into the pigeon coop and grinning at the birds. "Hi, Tony!"

"Hello, big guy!" Tony patted Steve on the back. There was a distinct air of reefer clinging to Steve's shirt and his eyes were blown black. "So, you went to a tea party without inviting me?"

Steve shrugged. "It was a... not so good day. Bucky and I went to the Cotton Club for the music, but you know, the smoke..." Steve made a face. "I didn't want to spoil Bucky's fun, so I said I needed to go to the gents. And Rhodey was there. He's a good guy, you know? And boy, can he play the sax. He's got great lungs. Wish I had Rhodey's lungs." 

Tony grinned. "Steve, you are so very, very baked."

"I KNOW!" Steve waved his hands and giggled. "Anyway, I had a couple Asthmadors, but it still wasn't very good, and Rhodey gave me some Bennies. He said they'd help me breathe, and they did! Only, then it was boring, and I wanted to get out and DOOOO things!"

"So, you came home and got on the roof to look at Mr. Wilson's pigeons." Steve didn't seem to be in any real difficulties, but he was jiggling from foot to foot.

"I wanted to go to the Fair and see if I could go on a ride, but..." Steve turned his pockets inside out. "I don't have the fare!"

"I think Bucky would be unhappy if you went without him," Tony said, diplomatically, neglecting to mention that the Fair was now closed until next April. "How about we go down to your flat, and wait for him."

Steve nodded. "All right." He put his arms around Tony. "You're a good guy, too, Tony."

"I know. I'm a prince."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 1939-40 New York World's Fair opened April 30th 1939. It ran from April to October for two years, and was officially closed forever on October 27, 1940.
> 
> Asthmador Cigarettes was one of a number of brand name cigarettes containing no tobacco, and meant for medicinal use- different brands used different ingredients. The Asthmador brand used Stramonium (stinkweed- contains atropine) and Belladonna 'to relieve the stress of bronchial asthmatic paroxysms.' Like many drugs, they weren't without side effects including 'hallucinogenic effects and heart palpitations' and after other medications with fewer side effects were available, asthma cigarettes were eventually taken off the market.
> 
> I don't know what the combined effects of secondhand marijuana, Asthmador and Benzedrine *would be*, but I suspect mild euphoria, reduced discrimination/judgment and nervous over-stimulation are likely results.


	3. Fishnets

By now Tony had seen the wistful glances Steve gave the pawnbroker's window enough times to pinpoint the object of his desire. It was really a beautiful thing, a [ cunningly crafted wooden suitcase](http://www.dickblick.com/products/plein-air-easels-by-jullian/) that opened, swiveled, and popped up on hinges to reveal a myriad of compartments filled with tubes of oil paint, arranged in a rainbow array, and more shapes and sizes of artist brushes than Tony knew existed and other things he couldn't identify but assumed had some artistic use. It had brass fittings, extensible legs, and an easel. A few of the tubes had been used; a couple of the brushes looked less than perfect, but on the whole, Tony thought it was well worth the thirty dollar valuation the pawnbroker put on it. 

All Steve had were charcoal, pencils, and a few artist's pens for ink work. He deserved more. 

The only problem was getting the money. The end of the year was proving slow for business. Tony didn't know why; he was as pretty as ever. Even his voice still retained its light timbre, which was annoying on a personal level, like the lack of facial hair, but useful on a professional level. 

For once he had someone to give a Christmas present. He wanted to wrap it up in bright paper and watch Steve's beautiful smile as he opened it. 

Dammit, Tony was going to get the money... somehow.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. A gangland shooting at the Club Abbey eight years ago had given the coppers the excuse to crack down on pansy clubs, and specifically drag acts- Tony didn't see the connection between one guy wearing a dress and someone else committing murder, but hey, he didn't see what was wrong with paid sex, either. Anyway, eight years wasn't long enough to make people forget what they liked. There were still a few clubs that skirted (hah) the law in Harlem. Drag was risky, but that should make it pay more. Tony was no Ella Fitzgerald, but he could sing and flirt while wearing a dress. Hell, he'd even curl his hair which he left long and shaggy, partly because the johns liked it, partly because haircuts cost money.

Tony took one last look at Steve's gift and nodded. Rhodey knew people who knew people. He could do this. It'd be a piece of cake.

 

When the whistles blew and the front door of the club was smashed in, Tony picked up his skirts and high-tailed it through the shouting and confusion, heading for the backstage door and silently cursing himself for his stupidity in not getting paid up front. He slammed headfirst into a broad, rock-hard chest, and looked up, dizzy, at the unsmiling face of a middle-aged flatfoot. "Get back in there, bucko," the man growled. "An take off that silly wig!" He grabbed Tony's hair and tugged.

Tony let out a high-pitched yelp, only half-feigned. "Please, sir! It's not a wig! Let me go!" he said, thankful for once that his natural voice was still a true soprano. Tony managed to squeeze out a few tears, which wasn't difficult as the copper was still pulling his hair.

"Yer a girl? What's your name?"

"Please, officer, I'm Antoinette Starr," he said on the off-chance an undercover copper had checked the bill posted in the lobby and would know the entertainers' names. 'Antoinette Starr' was listed as 'a fresh-faced young thing' which Tony supposed was true enough.

"What the Sam Hill are you doing here?"

"My mother's sick! I only pretended to be one of them for the money." Tony sniffled as the flattie released his hair. Tony smoothed it down, and gulped and thought really fast. "I wasn't doing anything wrong. Just singing an' let them think what they want." On the principle that momentum was everything, and if he kept talking, the copper wouldn't have a chance to think how suspicious and weak his story was, Tony started singing, not 'He Should Have Been A WAC' which would have made the audience laugh, but was altogether not something a sweet young thing should know, but Kay Kyser's number one hit, 'Three Little Fishies'.

He made his eyes as wide and innocent as possible. "Down in the meadow in an itty bitty pool. Swam three little fishies and a mama fishie too." 

"All right, all right, get on with yer, and don't let me catch you at any of these joints again!" The officer let Tony go.

Tony bowed his head and walked quickly, and demurely, out the door. "Thank you, of...FICER," the last word slipped into a distinctly baritone register. Oh, great, what a time for his voice to break. 

"WHAT? Get back here, you lyin' little..."

Tony hiked up his skirts and ran like hell. He heard the officer's heavy boots thud after him a few steps, and then, "Gwan, I'll get'cha later."

 

Long past the time the sound of the confusion at the club had settled into the relative quiet of a winter's evening in Harlem, Tony stopped running. He looked around. Dirty slush, dim streetlights, grimy brownstones. No shiny copper badges anywhere. He sighed in relief, and then realized what a fix he was in. He was miles from his flop. He was freezing in the thin satin dress they'd loaned him. His shirt and trousers, and wallet, too, were back at the club, hidden under a loose board in the dressing room. All he'd kept of his own were his underpants, shoes, and socks. He bent down and took a coin from his penny loafers and began looking for an all-night druggist. 

 

The phone rang a long time. Tony was beginning to worry the operator would tell him his party wasn't answering and disconnect, when he heard the receiver picked up, and the basso flugelhorn tones of Steve's landlady. "What'cher mean, calling at this hour? I run a decent place for hard-working people who need their sleep!"

Tony cleared his throat. "Yes, ma'am, but this is an emergency. If you could please ask Steve Rogers or James Barnes to come to the telephone to speak to Tony, I would greatly appreciate it." And then he sneezed. It wasn't planned, but his misery must have got through to the cold, hard, stone the landlady used for a heart.

"I'll call 'em." The receiver clacked, as if it had been released to tap against the wall and then he heard the distinctive creak of the stairs protesting the woman's weight.

Tony held onto the phone, his remaining coin clutched tightly between his fingers in case the operator threatened to cut him off. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Bucky's voice. "Tony?"

"Steve's not there?" Tony was glad in a way, because Bucky was more likely to understand Tony's stupidity, but he was also a little worried, because Steve shouldn't be out in the chill night air.

"He's asleep. If you wanna set up a..." There was a pause, probably as Bucky realized the landlady would be listening in on the extension. "What do you want, Tony?"

"I'm... I'm in Harlem, broke, and my clothes are... not fit to be seen in public."

Bucky made a growling sort of noise. "You're a prizewinner, Stark." He sighed. "Tell me where you are. I'll bring you a change of duds. But only because Steve would give me sad eyes if they found you frozen to death."

"Thanks, Barnes. I owe you one." Tony recited the address of the drugstore, and hung up.

 

Barnes arrived in a Checker cab, an extravagance that made Tony feel worse. He got out and Barnes stared at Tony for a minute, then he shoved a bundle of clothes at him. "I don't want to know."

The cabbie did a double-take as Tony tugged a pair of shapeless trousers over his fishnet stockings before pulling the dress off over his head. He put on a shirt, one of Barnes' and too large, but it was _warm_. 

"I'd like to know," the cabbie said, "bet it's a humdinger of a story."

Tony rolled his eyes and got into the cab, dress tucked under one arm. "Some friends pulled a joke on me," he replied.

"Huh," the cabbie said. "Some friends. Where to?"

"Back to where you picked me up," Bucky said. He scowled at Tony. "And then we'll have a little talk."

"I thought you didn't want to know?" Tony picked at a loose thread on the shirt.

"Shuddup," Barnes said.

 

Tony followed Barnes up the stairs, past the suspicious landlady, down the hallway and into the apartment. Steve was standing in front of the bedroom door, half-dressed and shivering. "I heard the door, Bucky," he said. He looked past Bucky at Tony. "What's going on? You get kicked out of your place? You in trouble?"

Tony smiled weakly. Steve was worried. Steve was the only person in the whole world who would worry about him. "Um, no? I don't think so? They don't have my real name."

Bucky shook his head. "That doesn't sound all that reassuring."

"Who? Tony? Who doesn't have your real name?" Steve asked.

"The police?" Tony hurried to add, "I didn't do anything wrong. At least, it shouldn't be a crime. Really, clothes are clothes. No one arrests a Scotsman for wearing a kilt!"

There was a long moment of silence.

"I think I'm going to need to sit down for this." Steve pulled out a chair and sat. He pointed to the other chair. "Sit, Tony."

Tony sat. "It's... a little bit, just a little bit complicated. Maybe I should go home and I'll tell you in the morning."

"Bucky, could you put on a pot of coffee, please," Steve said without looking away from Tony's face. 

Bucky went over to the stove and shoved in a scoop of coal on the banked embers. "Sure, Steve. We'll have a nice kaffeeklatch with Tony Von Bloomers."

Tony winced. He unrolled the wadded up dress and held it up where Steve could see it. "It's not what you think."

Steve looked puzzled rather than angry or disgusted. "What is it then, Tony?"

"I just... I went to a special club to sing." Tony waved his hands. "I wasn't even tricking! But there was a raid. I got away with my skin intact, but..."

"His skin was in that fetching gown. Really brings out the color of your eyes," Bucky said. He finished measuring coffee into a pan and poured water over it before setting it on top of the stove.

"Do you like wearing dresses?" Steve asked.

Tony shrugged. "Not particularly, but it pays well, and I needed the money." Steve got his 'I'm disappointed in you' look and Tony blurted out, "Not for anything bad! I wanted to buy you a present! Something you've always wanted!"

"And how do you think I'd feel if you went to jail to get it!" Steve was angry now. "I don't need anything! You don't have to..."

"Sure, sure, you don't need anything, you've got it great."

"I've got my two best guys!" Steve snapped. "I don't need anything else!"

There was an even longer, more embarrassing silence, broken only by the gentle bubbling of the warming water. Steve bowed his head and thunked it on the table. "I'm too tired for this, Tony. What in the name of God did you think I wanted more than I wanted you to keep yourself out of trouble?"

"That case in Sol's pawnshop. The one with all the paint and brushes." So much for surprise.

Steve sat up and blinked. "I didn't want that."

"You always look at it! You always look so sad!" Tony protested. "I just... wanted to make you happy."

Steve leaned across the table to tug on one of Tony's rag-rolled curls. "Tony, I couldn't use it. I'm color-blind. Can't tell the difference between green and red. I was just... you know... wondering what it would be like, if I could use colors. I wanted to paint your portrait for Christmas, but..."

"Geez, and I thought 'The Gift of the Magi' was just a story," Bucky said, plopping a tin of Oreos down on the table. "Here, Merry Christmas, eat your Oreos, don't let the coffee burn, I'm going back to bed. I've got a day's work on the docks tomorrow." Bucky stomped into the bedroom and shut the door.

"Idiot," Steve said affectionately and ruffled Tony's hair. "I've got my two best guys," he repeated softly. "I don't need anything else."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Procrastination research continues, here's just TWO of the things I learned today:
> 
> Yes, there actually was a wartime gay song entitled 'He Should Have Been a WAC'- I haven't found the lyrics, but the name is [ here](http://queermusicheritage.com/mar2011.html)  
> EDIT: I found the lyrics! [ Scroll down,](http://queermusicheritage.com/jun2004s.html) songs are listed by date, this one is 1947). One line in particular amused me- _and a little private from Brooklyn who was simply allergic to chintz  got himself transferred to Texas and he's never been heard of since_
> 
>  
> 
> Note: The plein air easel Tony wanted was fully stocked with supplies, so worth far more than the one in the current ad. 
> 
> I still have no idea where the story is going. Still trying, though.


	4. Baited

"Tell me again why we're doing this," Bucky said quietly, as he reached to tug Steve's muffler tighter around his neck. "It's stupid. You know it's stupid." 

"But it's the right thing to do, Buck," Steve replied. "Isn't it, Tony?" Steve turned slightly to face Tony, who was standing on Steve's other side, trying to shield him from the mid-January 'bracing' air as they waited in line to enter the meeting hall.

"Yes, I agree with both of you." Tony blew on his hands. Fanatics like the German American Bund scared the toffee out of Tony. Someone had to keep an eye on them, but he was perfectly happy to leave it up to the cops' 'Alien Squad'. "It's the stupid right thing to do." 

A man wearing a swastika on his lapel turned to glare at them. "You are not members of the Bund." He sneered at Steve. "You have the coloring of the Herrenvolk, but your mongrel impurities have made you unfit."

"Mongrel?" Steve snapped. The color was already rising in his face, and his fists were coming up. 

Bucky sighed and moved his shoulders, loosening them up. "I knew this was gonna be fun."

"Yeah, no," Tony said, talking fast to draw attention away from Steve. "We just came to see your new crook. I mean, I know you guys think swiping fourteen grand from your kitty is like, a perk of the job, and you didn't mind, but good old Fritz is gonna be making license plates for the next two to five so you need a new brownnose...I'm sorry, I mean brownshirt."

Bucky laughed. And then the fight started.

Tony concentrated on remembering to punch in straight lines while keeping an eye out for Steve, who had a knack for going after the biggest guy. It wasn't exactly a glorious battle, but there were plenty of people eager to join their side. FDR's New Deal was putting bread on a lot of tables. No one appreciated the Bund calling it 'Rosenfeld's Jew Deal' or had any patience for their boasts of being born better, a superior race, and all that guff.

Steve's landlady (Tony hadn't even realized she'd come to see the show) decked a busty swastika-wearing blonde with a beautiful roundhouse right and he cheered. The coppers had been watching, and quickly moved in to break it up. For once Tony was pleased to see the badges. At least he was until he recognized the burly, quintessentially Irish, flatfoot nearing the center of the melee. He went to duck behind Steve, and walked right into a fist. Steve grabbed him and kept him from losing his footing in the crowd.

"You all right?" Steve shouted, dragging Tony back towards Bucky, who was belting Bund members while wearing a huge grin, having got into the spirit of things.

"Who started this!" the copper from the raid on the club bellowed. 

The man Tony had baited proved he was thick as two bricks. You never finger even an enemy to the coppers, it's just not a good survival technique. He pointed at Tony. "Him!" the man shouted. His voice was a little garbled because of his broken noise, but perfectly understandable. "He insulted me!"

The cop waded through the crowd. Tony tilted his head back and dredged up a grin, even though his jaw hurt. "Top o' the mornin', OfFICER!" Maybe the officer wouldn't have recognized him, but at that inconvenient voice break, his eyes widened.

"I should run you in." Then he smiled. "G'wan, girlie, beat it."

Tony didn't hang around to give the man a chance to change his mind. He took off with Steve and Bucky. The landlady was still having the time of her life, so they didn't bother trying to catch her attention.

 

"You guys are both crazy," Bucky remarked as Steve and Tony were recounting details on the streetcar ride home. He was laughing at Tony's attempts to show how big his opponent was while Steve was pinching his fingers together over Tony's head to say 'smaller' .

"Hey," Tony said loudly, "I didn't escape the Asylum, they threw me out!"

Except for the driver all eyes turned to Tony.

Steve said, "Not helping your case there, Tony."

"No, really!" Tony stood up. "I started a riot against the German American Bund! Does that make me crazy?"

An orthodox rabbi said, "Possibly, my son. But I would like to buy you a beer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Dec. 5, 1939, Fritz Julius Kuhn, the leader of the German American Bund, was sentenced to two and a half to five years in prison for tax evasion and embezzlement ($14,000) despite the Bund claiming that on the principle of 'fuhrerprinzip' (basically, appointed leaders are superior beings and whatever they do is right) he had the right to steal from them.
> 
> Got sidetracked trying to find out what liquors are kosher. Beer pretty much should be. And so should Drambuie.
> 
> What sidetracked me was discovering [ Star-K Kosher Certification](http://www.star-k.org/). It was fascinating to me to learn some of the details of keeping kosher. Especially this article on [ how to determine if coffee is kosher. ](http://www.star-k.org/kashrus/kk-thirst-coffee.htm)Possibly the name Star-K kept my attention longer, too...


	5. Schooled

The blue rag was hanging on Steve's wash line which meant that Bucky had found a day's work. For once Tony was a little disappointed. In the month since the Bund riot Bucky had...well, not warmed up to him, but maybe thawed a bit. It would be nice if he could count Bucky as a friend, especially as he was losing one today. Still, he had Steve, and they were figuring out what they could do, and what he couldn't do in bed. Sometimes they got lucky, and were able to do quite a lot, but they still hadn't needed to swipe any of Bucky's Romeos. 

"Hey, Steeeeve," Tony shouted from the alley, "you decent?"

Steve leaned out of his window. "C'mon up, you know the way."

Tony doffed his cap in respect to Steve's landlady's right arm, and charged up the stairs. The apartment door was open and he chugged right in, breathing heavily. "Whatcha doin', Steve? You're not busy, are you? Come to Grand Central with me!"

"What?" Steve flipped shut his sketchpad. Tony had a glimpse of cartooned pigeons, goose-stepping in a blank-eyed row, with swastikas on their shoulders, before it closed. "Sure, I guess I could sketch trains." He stuck his pencil behind his ear and then he narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Tony flapped his hands. "Don't you trust me?" 

"I know everything's a joke with you, Tony. And if you're going to try to convince me that a rare tropical snipe has been seen hiding in the men's room..."

"That was once! Anyway, no, this isn't a joke. I'm seeing Rhodey off. He's going to Tuskegee University!"

"Rhodey's a city boy, like us. Why'd he want to go to Alabama?"

"He's gonna learn how to fly! You know he thinks like you, he figures we're going to war, and he's too smart to be slogging in the mud."

"Does the Army have negro pilots?" Steve scratched his head with his pencil. Tony could see this wasn't a good day, there were dark shadows around his eyes and his shoulders were hunched. It took a lot of prodding to get Steve moving on bad days.

"No, he got turned down when he applied to the U.S. Army Air Corps. They didn't care how smart and strong he is, just, no, you're the wrong color for our uniform," Tony admitted. "But! But there's a Civilian Pilot Training program now for negroes- they passed the law to allow it 'in order to have pilots available in case of a national emergency'. And you just know, Hitler and his buddies are gonna keep pushing until Uncle Sam decides to push back. That'll be a 'national emergency' and they'll need Rhodey then. They'll have to let him show how amazing he is." Tony was talking faster all the time, excited by thought of it, Rhodey flying. "He's gonna make something of himself."

Steve scowled. "You should make something of yourself, too. You can't be doing what you're doing all your life. Why don't you get an honest job?"

Tony was hurt and he was already on a roll, so he said things he'd thought about but never, ever, meant to say. "You're a fine one to talk. You're always here. What do you do except keep house for Bucky?"

"I've got a job!" Steve stood up tall and threw his shoulders back. "You just don't know about it because you never get up before noon! I'm up before dawn every day, delivering newspapers!"

"That's a job for crippled kids!" Tony snapped back. The moment the words escaped him, he wished he'd bit off his tongue. The pain on Steve's face was clear.

"I KNOW it is!" Steve shouted and shoved him, pushing him out of the door. "I don't need you reminding me! Get out, Tony! GET OUT!"

Tony would have tried to argue, but Steve looked as if he was going to cry, and seeing that would be unforgivable. "I'm sorry," Tony said as the door slammed in his face. "I'm sorry, Steve." Tony leaned his head against the wall and sighed. "I'm such a schmuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upon graduation from Tuskegee the pilots would be assigned to the 99th Fighter Squadron, the first black military flight squadron ever activated.
> 
> In 1940, under pressure from black activists, the press, other political groups and President Franklin D. Roosevelt, the USAAC reversed its position on accepting black flight program applicants. 
> 
> I don't recall where I read it, but I'm pretty sure in the comics, Steve's pre-enlistment job was newspaper delivery.


	6. Sole

"Do you think if I got some shoe polish, I could..." Tony waggled his eyebrows, clowning for Rhodey even though he didn't feel like it. Rhodey's send off ought to be a celebration of his accomplishments, not condolences on Tony's failure as a decent human being. They were having a cup of coffee while waiting for Rhodey's train to be ready for boarding. Rhodey was standing with a canvas duffel between his feet, looking so proud and excited that Tony really wished they were brothers, wished he was going, too.

"God, Tony... you, in blackface?" Rhodey shook his head and then tousled Tony's hair. "I bet you could do it, but you'd flunk out of flight school the first day."

"Hey! I bet I could fly!"

"You are a natural born hotdog. We're going to be a support squadron; we have to be totally, one hundred percent reliable, on time, no fooling around, no thinking we know better than our officers."

Tony sighed. "Yeah, you're right." Then he brightened. "When you come back, you can teach me, and we could be barnstormers! Stark's Flying Circus! Ok, Rhodes' Flying Circus? For you, Big Hunk!"

"Sure," Rhodey said, even though they both knew the era of the barnstormer was over. You couldn't buy a Jenny for $200 from the government any more, and even if you found a plane, the current safety regulations would make most of the crazy things Tony would want to do impossible. He grinned. "I'll give you a ride, first chance I get. Oh, hey, train's boarding." He gulped down the last of his coffee, put the cup down on the counter, and gave Tony a manly hug.

"I'll hold you to that promise!" Tony hugged back hard, before letting Rhodey go. "Fly high!"

Rhodey waved and disappeared into the train. Tony watched until it was gone. He wasn't in the mood to work. If he found a john he'd want to bite it off. He had enough money to take a train. "I'll go see the Professor." Tony overpaid an old lady for an apple, and sat on a bench eating it until a train bound for Princeton arrived. 

 

_Tony had been sneaking into Princeton lecture halls for a year before he properly met the Professor. He always sat at the back and listened, just absorbing the beauty of physics and the austere clarity of mathematics. On the occasions when the chalkboard hadn't been completely wiped at the end of a lecture, he sometimes chanced going down to get a close-up view. The day he met the Professor, he'd been standing on tip-toe, correcting an equation._

_"Ach, that is beautiful."_

_Tony had turned around, recognizing the German accent and mild voice of the Professor. He'd been unexpectedly embarrassed. Tony'd been a whore long enough that he hadn't thought anything could make him blush. "I'm sorry, Professor Einstein, I was just..." Tony had reached for the eraser._

_"No, no, do not remove it! It is good work." The Professor came up to Tony and reached past him on the lectern to pick up his pipe. "I have returned to find my pipe, and have discovered a mathematician." He re-lit the pipe and puffed on it in a contemplative way while Tony fidgeted. "I think I have seen you before, but I do not think you are enrolled here."_

_For a moment, Tony had considered lying, saying that he was the son of one of the other faculty, but Einstein... Einstein was seeking ultimate truth. Tony couldn't give him that, but at least he could refrain from lying. "No, I work in New York, but... I don't need to think on my job... I really can't. So when I can, I come here to listen to thinkers, to... dream a little."_

_Einstein had nodded. "I will write a permission for you to attend lectures, gratis." He pulled a small notepad from his pocket, and held a pen above the surface. "Perhaps, in return you will check my mathematics?"_

_"Yes, Professor! Thank you." Tony had never understood why people claimed mathematics was difficult, and was glad to finally have a practical use for it._

 

Tony idolized Einstein. The man didn't wear socks, dressed as he pleased even when being given prestigious awards, and Tony doubted a barber had touched that wild graying lion's mane of hair in years. He didn't care what he looked like or what people would think of him. That was probably why he hadn't minded a child correcting his math, and why he didn't mind teaching Tony to speak German.

His mind wandered throughout the lecture, and when the Professor had invited him to examine his latest equations he found himself staring blindly at the papers.

"What is wrong, Tony?" Einstein asked after a few minutes. "Do you not feel well?"

"Oh. Oh, I'm fine. I was just... I had a fight with my... well... my friend. I said something stupid. Just... I was... I'm always saying something stupid. It's like my brains fall out, and my mouth opens and stupid comes out."

"Hmm, this is, I take it, a very, very good friend?" Einstein winked at Tony. "Falling in love is not at all the most stupid thing that people do, but gravitation cannot be held responsible for it." He patted Tony's hand. "You are young and handsome, and very clever. There will be other beautiful young women in your life."

"I don't want anyone else!" Tony said, as the realization struck him. "Oh, no. I'm in love."

Einstein laughed. "It happens to the best of us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Big Hunk](http://www.oldtimecandy.com/1930s.htm#) was a chocolate candy of the 1930's.
> 
> Do not worry about your difficulties in Mathematics. I can assure you mine are still greater. — Albert Einstein  
> In letter (7 Jan 1943) to Barbara Wilson, a junior high school student, who had difficulties in school with mathematics. 
> 
> One of the strongest motives that lead men to art and science is escape from everyday life with its painful crudity and hopeless dreariness, from the fetters of one's own ever-shifting desires. — Albert Einstein
> 
> Falling in love is not at all the most stupid thing that people do, but gravitation cannot be held responsible for it.  
> Scribbled by Einstein on a letter received during a visit to England (1933) from a man who suggested that gravity meant that as the world rotated people were sometimes upside down, horizontal, or at 'left angles' and that perhaps, this disorientation explained why people do foolish things like falling in love.  
> — Albert Einstein
> 
> (also found frequent mention of Dr. Einstein's love affairs with at least six different women. So I think he and MCU Tony had quite a bit in common.)


	7. Off the Hook

"Steeeve," Tony tapped on Steve's door, waited a few seconds, and then tapped again. "Steeeeve." On the train, Tony had spent most of the hour and a half return from Princeton trying to figure out how to make up with Steve. He couldn't bring flowers or candy or even tickets to a new play, because... well, Steve wasn't Tony's _girl_ and he'd probably get insulted all over again. 

He had been still thinking when the train arrived at Grand Central. He got out and started walking, head down and hands deep in his pockets. After a few minutes he saw a penny on the sidewalk, but it wasn't heads up, which would be lucky, so he turned it over and left it for someone else to find. He kept walking, and found himself at one of the entrances to Central Park. He glanced in at a group of children playing on the sparse spring grass, looking for bugs or pretty stones or whatever else caught their eyes.

And then he had the perfect idea. It took some doing, but he succeeded and then went straight to Steve's flat. "STEEEEVE."

"WHAT?" Steve flung the door open. "Why are you scratching at my door? You're worse than a cat, Tony..." Steve paused, and looked Tony over from head to toe. "What happened to you?"

"Um, nothing?" Tony followed Steve's gaze to his head, and brushed out some leaves. He'd tried to get the dirt off his shirt and trousers, but it was ground into the fibers, particularly at the knees and elbows. And now that he thought of it, he probably should have taken the time to wash his hands. "Here! I found it for you!" Tony held out a tiny sprig of greenery.

Steve raised his eyebrows in confusion. "Wood sorrel? That's not enough to make a salad."

"No, no, it's a four-leaf clover! For luck! Um... isn't it?" Tony looked again at the bit of plant. He should have looked it up in the library. "Oh, sorry. I'll go back and..."

Steve grabbed Tony by the collar and pulled him into the flat, shutting the door behind him. Steve took a deep breath. At the same time, he and Tony both said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

Tony blinked. 

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "And I'm sorry I didn't go with you to see Rhodey off."

Tony nodded. "That's all right. Once he gets settled, he'll send word how I can write to him. He'd like to hear from you, too."

"Good. Good, we'll do that. Here, give me that." Steve took the plant from Tony, and put it in a folded scrap of paper, before tucking the paper in the middle of the latest Agatha Christie, 'And Then There Were None'.

"You're saving it? It's not lucky. Just a weed."

"It was a four-leaf clover," Steve said firmly. "I had something in my eye. I made a mistake." He nudged Tony. "Why don't you wash up? I was just going to make onion sandwiches."

"Onion? Really?" Tony went to the sink and began washing his hands. He'd picked up more of the park than he'd thought.

"Well, I wasn't going to be kissing anyone." Steve said. "How about ketchup sandwiches?"

Tony looked into the small square of mirror over the sink, and saw Steve smiling at him. "Are you going to be ketchup kissing anyone?"

"Maaaaybe," Steve replied as he began slicing bread. "I feel lucky."

"Yeah. So do I." Tony smiled.


	8. Stuffed Shrimp

"Finland surrendered to Russia," Tony said. "Mussolini joined Hitler against England and France. France is scrambling to form a new government, and you're upset about bells?" Tony blinked and turned the pages of the newspaper to find the squib that Steve was frowning over. 

"Church bells, Tony." Steve pointed to the article and quoted, _"Hermann Goering says 100-200 church bells enough for Germany, smelt the rest."_

"Well, you know, they're at war. I guess it's a pity because a lot of them are antiques... works of art?" Tony was trying to understand why this in particular got Steve so worked up. The news was frankly terrifying, with bombers over England, and U-boats terrorizing the ocean, and hell, British sailors using bayonets and cutlasses! cutlasses! in hand to hand combat on the German ship 'Altmark' in Norway. He'd even heard rumors that the Poles sent cavalry against Panzer tanks. He didn't buy that one. The Polish folk he knew were too sensible for that-- they might use cavalry to move anti-tank snipers into position, though. Smelted church bells seemed small potatoes in comparison to the general craziness going on in the world.

"They're _church_ bells. Dedicated to worship and peace. The Nazis are spitting in the face of God by turning them into weapons."

"I guess that's the point. It looks like they're trying to set up a new religion, with Hitler as their god. You've seen the Bund. Those loonies really think they've got some Divine Right to rule everyone else."

"They're just bigger bullies, that's all."

"Yeah." Tony bumped Steve's arm. "C'mon, stop reading all this depressing stuff. I've got tickets to Madison Square Garden. I've got a bet on Joe Louis, he's fighting Johnny Paychek."

"Yeah? All right." Steve put down the newspaper and stood up. "Maybe if you watch, you can learn a thing or two about clean boxing."

Tony grinned. "Joe Louis can afford to fight clean. The man's built like a tank. Seriously, Steve, would you rather I fight clean and get my pretty face smashed, or keep my knuckle duster and my noble nose intact?"

Steve looked at Tony. "Give me a minute, I'm thinking it over."

 

Tony used his charm and his elbows, as appropriate, to clear a path to their seats. He nearly tripped over a heavy cable. Steve caught his arm. "Watch out, Lightfoot."

"Yeah, yeah, hey, who put that there?"

"Sorry, Mac," a gray haired man wearing overalls with the Madison Sq. Garden logo on the pocket said as he came up the stands and began rolling up the cable. "We had cameras in here, yestiddy," he said cheerfully. "What a mess!"

"They made a movie?" Steve asked.

"Bettern' that. They filmed the game between Fordham-Pitt and Georgetown NYU and showed it on television!"

Steve found his seat and brushed peanut shells from it. "Basketball on television? Who'd want to watch that?"

The old guy shrugged and went past them with the cable.

"Yeah, baseball would be more fun," Tony said. Then he grinned, "Of course, we wouldn't have the excitement of sneaking under the stands and being chased by the bat boy..."

Steve scowled. "If we'd had the two dollars, Bucky and I would have paid. Oh, look, Louis is entering the ring!" Steve stood up and cheered.

"Pipe down, you pipsqueak!" A man said from the seat behind Steve. 

"Hey, we're not in church," Tony protested. It wasn't as if other people were being quiet. Steve did have a rather carrying Brooklyn Irish tenor, though. Tony turned around to confront the man- a big fellow with lines of perpetual bad temper carved into his face. He looked like a hungry bulldog.

"Mister, do you wanna start something?" Steve stood up to face the man. He looked furious. He never did like being called 'pipsqueak'.

"Oh, no, no, no, Steve," Tony said, grabbing Steve's arm and thinking fast. "Remember what your manager said?"

"What?" Steve glanced at Tony, momentarily distracted.

"Your fists are your fortune, Steve!" Tony looked at the now puzzled man behind them. "Flyweight Steven O'Brien." Tony waved at Steve's face, pointing out the shiner from the last bully Steve had stood up to. "You should see this guy move. Word to the wise- bet on him when you see his name on the ticket... oh, hey, they're starting!" Tony yanked Steve around. "Now, watch Louis's footwork, Steve!"

Steve grumbled, but he sat. He was up on his feet, shouting for Louis in the next minute, but then, so was most of the stadium.

 

"KO in two! And still World Champion!" Steve was on his toes, shadow boxing around Tony as they left the Garden. Tony was ducking and weaving, and enjoying the look on the bulldog's face. Steve had the heart of a boxer, all right.

"Hey, hey, Steve, that's enough. You know you gotta put on weight, not sweat it off." Tony threw his arm around Steve's shoulders. "Let's go to the Blue Ribbon. I know you love their apple pancake."

Steve hesitated, and then he nodded. "My treat."

"We could go Dutch?"

"Tony."

Tony raised his hands in surrender. "All right, but I pay for the beer."

Steve thought it over and nodded. They were halfway to the restaurant when Steve said, "Flyweight's gotta be at least a hunnert and twelve pounds. I'm only ninety five, soaking wet."

"How about we get the wiener schnitzel, too, then? Since you won't be breaking training?" Tony grinned and ducked the playful swipe Steve sent his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Blue Ribbon was a German restaurant located in New York on W. 44th Street between Sixth and Seventh Avenues- a short walk from the original Madison Square Garden (50th and 8th Avenue). It opened in 1914, and closed in 1975. The apple pancake was at least 18 inches in diameter, full of sauteed apples spiced with cinnamon, ginger and covered in powdered sugar. 
> 
> Feb 17th 1940- Crew of the British destroyer Cossack board German Altmark in Jøssingfjord, Norway, and freed over 300 British prisoners after hand-to-hand fighting with bayonets and the last recorded Royal Naval action with cutlass.
> 
> On February 28, 1940, Madison Square Garden hosted the first televised basketball games in a Fordham-Pitt and Georgetown-NYU doubleheader. 
> 
> The first-ever televised baseball game was on May 17, 1939, between Princeton and Columbia; Princeton beat Columbia 2–1 at Columbia's Baker Field, but since neither Tony nor Steve had a TV they didn't know about it. 
> 
> Bother. I got a bunch of dates from MARCH 1940. Am not changing the fic, but will put the dates here. (I console myself by knowing that the historical calendar site has got a few things wrong -spelling the boxer's name 'Paycheck' for one-, so why can't I mess up, too?)
> 
> This was all in March: 
> 
> 12th - Finland surrenders to Russia, gives Karelische Isthmus  
> 15th - Hermann Goering says 100-200 church bells enough for Germany, smelt the rest  
> 18th - Benito Mussolini joins Hitler in Germany's war against France & Britain  
> 19th - French government of Daladier falls 20th - Paul Reynoud becomes French premier  
> 29th - Joe Louis KOs Johnny Paychek in 2 to retain heavyweight boxing title
> 
> Let's pretend this chapter took place in March- the cutlass fight could have been old news, and maybe the basketball game got rescheduled. :^)


	9. Like Shooting Fish in a Barrel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse isn't talking to me, much. *sigh* Sorry for the long wait & can't promise any improvement. I will try, that's all I can do.

"I gotta go to bed so I can get up to deliver my papers, Buck, you know that," Steve grumbled, but Bucky continued twiddling the dial on the radio. "It's almost ten."

"Yeah, but I wanna hear this new show. It's starting tonight."

"Something like the Green Hornet?"

"No, it's a quiz show. Top prize is sixty-four dollars."

"Huh. That's a funny number."

"Starts out at a dollar and doubles each time you get it right for seven questions. You can stop and take what you've won so far, or you can risk it and keep going. That's why it's called 'Take it or Leave it'."

"Where'd you hear all this?" Steve pushed the covers back on the bed and sat up. "Buck? If it's the first show..."

"Shh! It's starting!"

Steve sighed. Bucky poked him in the ribs. A man's voice, cheerful and far too happy, came from the radio, briefly describing the show, and then he introduced the first contestant, a young protege of the noted Professor Einstein. Steve looked at Bucky, who shrugged and raised his eyebrows innocently.

Tony sounded weird over the radio, but it was definitely him. He giggled nervously in a familiar way. The first two questions were easy. Steve found himself leaning forward, closer to the radio, silently urging Tony on. It wasn't the money, it was that Tony was getting to show off how smart he was.

The questions got harder. The audience started shouting, 'You'll be Sooooorrrreee' every time Tony said he wanted to go on. Steve figured there must be someone holding a big sign up telling them to say that. He thought that was a little mean. He had his hands around the radio. "Don't listen to them, Tony. You can do it!"

Bucky made a little huffing noise that he quickly covered up by pretending to cough. Steve ignored him, leaning closer to the radio and grinning when Tony said, "I'm going all the way!"

"Bet that's not the first time he said that," Bucky said.

Steve elbowed Bucky in the ribs. "Pipe down. I want to hear!" When Tony answered the final question correctly, Steve cheered so loud he had a coughing fit, and Bucky had to pound him on the back.

 

"Steve!" 

Steve leaned out the window and waved at Tony, who was standing in the alley. "Hey! You're looking pretty swanky." Tony was wearing a charcoal gray suit and he had a striped red, blue and gold necktie that looked like real silk.

"Couldn't go on the show dressed like a street rat." Tony disappeared around the corner, heading for the entrance to the building. 

Steve pulled his head back in and went to open the apartment door. He could hear Tony giving the landlady his compliments on the shine of the floor, and then bouncing up the stairs while she protested his flighty ways. Steve grinned when Tony appeared soon after, puffing and flushed, on the landing. 

"You heard it? You listened? Bucky promised he'd get you to listen," Tony said, all in one breath.

"Yeah, Bucky did. Congratulations!" Steve patted Tony on the back and stood aside for Tony to enter the apartment. He shut the door behind them, and gave Tony a swift kiss. "So, now that you're rolling in dough, should I call you Rockafella?"

Tony buffed his nails on his lapels. "Call me Houdini!" He waved his hand and produced three theater tickets. "Look! Voila! Opening night, next week. Front row, center: you, me, and Bucky! There's enough to rent suits for all of us and have a swanky dinner, too."

Steve took the tickets. "Oh! 'There Shall Be No Night.' I wanted to see this!"

"Yes! I knew you'd like it," Tony said with glee. "And I knew you wouldn't take it if it was... y'know, money I made the regular way, but this is clean money. Pennies from heaven!"

Steve grabbed Tony and kissed him again. "Shut up. We all do what we gotta." He broke off the kiss and leaned to press his forehead against Tony's. "When things aren't so hard, that brain of yours is gonna make you a living."

"Yeah. And rich folks are gonna fight to buy your art."

Steve gave Tony a crooked smile. "Sure. Sure, we just gotta hang on 'til then. That's all." He turned his head and coughed. "What about Bucky?"

"He can learn to drive. We could use a chauffeur for our fleet of limousines." Tony put his arm around Steve. "Whyn't you sit for a while. I can..." He sniffed and glanced at the pot bubbling on the stove. "Finish making supper."

"You sure?" Steve smiled. "I've seen you burn eggs."

"Eggs are complicated, but I can handle canned mushroom soup with Spam."

"Well, ok," Steve said as he sat down at the table. "I guess. Since it's past the can opening stage."

"Once, just once, I opened both ends of the can! It was brilliant, I could push the mush out and not lose a drop!" Tony picked up the ladle and began stirring the soup.

"Yeah, but then how could you measure the can of water to put in with it?"

"I... I'm sure I would have figured it out." Tony stirred furiously, while Steve chuckled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April 21st first airing of 'Take it or Leave it' on CBS Radio, Sunday 10:00-10:30 PM.
> 
> April 29th - Robert Sherwood's "There Shall be No Night" premiered in NYC. It was a three-act play presented by the Theatre Guild from April 29 through November 2, 1940, at Broadway's Alvin Theatre (now renamed the Neil Simon Theater). It won the 1941 Pulitzer Prize for Drama.
> 
> The play was set in contemporary Finland. A Nobel Prize–winning Finnish scientist was reluctant to believe that the Russians would invade. But when Finland's Winter War with the Soviets happened, his son joined the Finnish army and the scientist joined its medical corps.


	10. Packed in like sardines

"Aw," Bucky said, "they cancelled the Olympics."

"Olympics?" Tony and Bucky had got up at the ass-crack of dawn to deliver Steve's papers after 'accidentally' giving him a little too much cough medicine so he'd sleep. "Hey, stop reading the papers."

"What? Imma gonna get air in them? Sheesh." Bucky folded the paper up and snapped it across his chest to land on a doorstep across the street.

"Good arm. Were you gonna try out for the Olympic baseball team?" Tony shied a paper at the stoop on the nearest side of the street to them. After five tries, he'd given up on competing with Bucky.

Bucky huffed and flung another paper even further. "Bet you're glad they didn't ask any sports questions on the show. Baseball's not an Olympic sport."

Tony shrugged. "I was never a team player."

"Uh huh." Bucky raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at the bag full of newspapers Tony was carrying. "So you wanna do the route by yourself?"

"Temporary alliance, I can work with that."

"Sure." Bucky grabbed two papers and threw them both at the same time, to opposite sides of the street to land with precision against the front doors of two brownstones.

Tony blinked. "Maybe we could get newspaper throwing on the next Olympics."

 

Steve staggered out of the bedroom, hopping on one foot as he tried to get his trousers on. "What?" He stopped, one foot tangled in cloth, the other skinny leg bare, to stare at the sight of Tony slumped over his table, arms wrapped around a package wrapped in white bakery paper.

"Tony?"

Tony looked up at him, sleepily blinking. "Oh, hey Steve. I got breakfast! Bagels with smearcase."

"Breakfast? I gotta go, Tony. I'm late. I never delivered the papers. I have to explain to Mr. Donnegal. And, oh, heck, I was supposed to collect subscriptions today, too." Steve ran his hands through his hair, and then sat down next to Tony to pull his pants up. "What are you doing here, anyway? You never even get up before noon."

"I wanted to see the sunrise. It's... like poetry. You know, turning the tenements to gold, making the pigeons into pie..."

"Tony." Steve narrowed his eyes and poked Tony in the shoulder.

"Oh, no, don't give me the eyes." Tony held up his hands in surrender. "Don't worry. The papers got delivered, and the subscribers all paid up. Bucky can be _scary_ , you know?"

"It's _my_ job, Tony!" Steve snapped. 

Tony broke a bagel in half and held one piece out to Steve. "It's still your job, Steve. We just... shared it. This once." He waggled the bagel. "Friends share, don't they?"

Steve sighed and took the bagel. "Yeah, all right." He bit into the bagel. "So, Bucky went off to work and left you holding the bag?"

"Pretty much." Tony grinned. "I don't mind. You're beautiful in the dawn's early light."

"Tony, it's nearly noon."

"Close enough." Tony elbowed Steve. "The Fair reopens on the eleventh. Admission's only fifty cents."

Steve nodded. "Yeah."

 

 

"Don't look at the paper, Steve," Tony said on the eleventh. "Don't listen to the radio. We're going to the Fair." He and Bucky were pretending to arm-wrestle at the table, so Steve could use them as models for a sketch. "Opening day should be great."

A newsie shouted on the street below. "NAZIS ATTACK HOLLAND, BELGIUM AND LUXEMBOURG!"

"You didn't hear that," Bucky said. 

"I'm not an ostrich." Steve put down his pencil. "You forget, I deliver the papers? And I listen to the reports coming in over the wire sometimes. They never notice me in the press room. The Germans started dropping bombs on England yesterday, too and England got a new Prime Minister, Winston Churchill. He's a soldier, and a smart fella. Sounds like a good choice."  
 

 

"You've got to be kidding me," Tony said to Steve, as a heavyset man worked the crowd entering the Fair, handing out lapel pins that said, 'Hello Folks!' "He looks like he just fell off the turnip truck."

"Yeah, but he fell off in good company," Bucky remarked, admiring the crowd of attractive women, at least fifty of them, accompanying the suspender-snapping, jovial Fair mascot. "Those are ripe peaches if ever I saw one. I'll meet you guys at the Perisphere at two." Bucky dove through the masses.

"I can't tell whether that's optimism or pessimism speaking," Tony said.

"Eh, it's Bucky, he'll probably bring back the pick of the bunch."

Tony looked around. "Last year they had President Roosevelt and Professor Einstein give speeches. This year we get Elmer?"

"And parades!" Steve hung onto the back of Tony's collar to keep from losing him in the crowd. "Look, the Boy Scouts are making a giant human American flag!"

"Let's go on the Life Savers [ Parachute Jump](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U82t49aTgHw)," Tony said, "while everyone's watching the parade."

"I don't know," Steve hedged, looking up at the twenty-five story structure, "I want to see the American Jubilee. You know, that must be something. A three hundred foot long stage with horses, and bicycles and, you know, it'd be like watching history."

"Ok, we can do that, instead." Tony grinned. "But let's tell Bucky we did the Parachute Jump, and it was a breeze."

 

 

The next day the Nazis flanked the French Maginot line to attack Holland and Belgium. Steve, Bucky and Tony sat around the radio in Steve and Bucky's flat in silence for a few minutes, listening until the news ended and Bucky turned the station to some music. Steve didn't say anything. His hands were fiddling with one of the souvenirs from the Fair, a bright scrap printed with this year's theme, 'For Peace and Freedom'. 

Tony cleared his throat. "So. Well, hey, I got a letter from Rhodey today!"

"Oh?" Bucky said, glancing at Steve before turning his attention to Tony. "So, how's he doing?"

"Good, really good. He doesn't say much, you know, never know who might be reading. But he says he's doing well, and he's met a bunch of great guys. Dedicated, smart, and tough." Tony looked wistful. "I heard the Army Air Corps is gonna accept black applicants now."

"That's good," Steve said. "When we get into the war, we're going to need good men like Rhodey." Steve put down the mangled scrap of paper. "The Nazis aren't going to stop until someone stops them. They don't believe in neutrality."

Tony nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I mean... Holland? What did tulips ever do to Hitler?"

Bucky sighed. "When it's the right time, America's gonna step up to the plate, Steve."

"You'll sign up, Buck? The draft is coming, you know it is." Steve looked fiercely at Bucky. "Don't you dare tell them you got a sick friend you need to stay home and watch over."

"No. No, I wouldn't do that to you, Steve. If they ask for men, I'll sign up. But you gotta promise not to do anything stupid."

"Me, Buck?" Steve grinned. "When do I ever do anything stupid?"

Tony and Bucky exchanged a knowing look.

 

 

Two weeks later they were gathered around the radio again, listening as President Roosevelt made an appeal for support for the Red Cross. "Tonight, over the once peaceful roads of Belgium and France, millions are now moving, running from their homes to escape bombs and shells and machine gunning, without shelter, and almost wholly without food," the President said.

"Millions. I just... how can you..." Steve shook his head.

"The Germans have nearly all the British Expeditionary army pinned down there, along with most of the French," Bucky pointed out quietly. "They're not gonna care how many civilians get bombed."

"If England falls...what's left?" Tony looked at one of the maps of Europe printed in the newspaper. Steve had cut it out and crossed out all the countries Germany and its allies had conquered or subverted.

"Us," Steve said. "There's us." 

"They can't hold out long enough. Not with the artillery shelling and the Luftwaffe bombing," Bucky said. "They've got their backs to the sea at Dunkirk beach."

"They'll send ships," Tony said. But he didn't sound confident. "The Channel's nothing, right? Heck, Bucky could probably toss a newspaper across it."

"Sure," Steve said. "It's only twenty-two miles at the narrowest point. Getting the ships there is not the problem. But you can't steer a battleship close to land."

"Should be a kind of airplane that can hover. You know? Bees and dragonflies do it," Tony fiddled with his note from Rhodey. "Maybe, you know, something like the rotor lift of a maple key?"

"Sure, Tony," Steve said. He got up, abruptly and put on his hat. "Pie in the sky, by and by. But right now, there are men dying on that beach, and dreams won't help them. I think I want to get drunk."

"That won't help, either." But Bucky and Tony got up and joined Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tokyo won the venue rights for the 1940 Olympics, but due to their war with China (which began in July 1937), Japan cancelled in May of 1938. Helsinki was then to host the Games, but the Second World War led to the cancellation of both the 1940 and 1944 Olympiads. 
> 
> Smearcase is like soft cream cheese.
> 
> By the summer of 1940, it was said the army was going to start training on towers that resembled the Parachute Jump. The Parachute Jump sponsor was actually Life Savers candy. 
> 
> In 1940, under pressure from black activists, the press, other political groups and President Franklin D. Roosevelt, the USAAC reversed its position on accepting black flight program applicants. 
> 
> May 26th, the British expeditionary army and Allied forces (mostly French but there were also Polish, Belgian and a small number of Dutch soldiers) were trapped at Dunkirk. Evacuation began on the 27th. The best hope the English commanders had was that perhaps 45,000 men might be rescued, using ships of both the Royal and Merchant navies. They estimated they would have perhaps 48 hours before Dunkirk Harbor was overrun. The code name for the evacuation was Operation Dynamo.
> 
> The Germans had tanks (some of them less than 10 miles away from Dunkirk beach), but held them back for three days for a number of reasons- they needed to rest, reorganize and resupply, also the numerous canals in the area made the going less than ideal for tanks, and Luftwaffe commander Hermann Göring assured Hitler that air power could wipe out the forces trapped on the beach. A combination of bad flying weather and the combined efforts of British, Polish and Canadian fighter pilots kept the Luftwaffe from success. 
> 
> After 3 days, the BBC broadcast an appeal --
> 
> An Appeal for Boating Skills was broadcast by BBC newsreader Alan Howland. I listened to it- it was 25 seconds long and never mentioned Dunkirk or ships- just sailors, so I'm not SURE there wasn't a more specific one, but it seems likely that they didn't publicize any more details than necessary. They knew there were spies on English soil.
> 
> _A number of appeals for recruits have been issued today. The admiralty want men experienced in marine internal combustion engines or service as enginemen in yachts or motorboats. Others who have charge of motorboats and have good knowledge of coastal navigation are needed uncertified second-hands. Applications should be made to the nearest registrar, Royal Naval reserve or the fishery officer._
> 
> \---for any ship that could make it to Dunkirk and for the next 6 days the Little Ships of Dunkirk came- all private craft, some which had never put out to sea, some less than 30 feet long, - river craft, pleasure boats, fishing smacks, tugs, private tenders, lifeboats, drifters, and paddle steamers. Eventually 338,226 men were evacuated in roughly 11 days. About 215,000 were British, 123,000 were French – of whom 102,250 escaped in British ships.
> 
> The War Office made the decision to evacuate British forces on 25 May. In the nine days from 27 May–4 June, 338,226 men escaped, including 139,997 French, Polish, and Belgian troops, together with a small number of Dutch soldiers, aboard 861 vessels (of which 243 were sunk during the operation). Liddell Hart says British Fighter Command lost 106 aircraft dogfighting over Dunkirk, and the Luftwaffe lost about 135 – some of which were shot down by the French Navy and the Royal Navy; but MacDonald says the British lost 177 aircraft and the Germans lost 240.
> 
> The docks at Dunkirk were too badly damaged to be used, but the East and West Moles (sea walls protecting the harbour entrance) were intact. Captain William Tennant—in charge of the evacuation—decided to use the beaches and the East Mole to land the ships. This highly successful idea hugely increased the number of troops that could be embarked each day, and indeed at the rescue operation's peak, on 31 May, over 68,000 men were taken off.
> 
> The last of the British Army left on 3 June, and at 10:50, Tennant signalled Ramsay to say "Operation completed. Returning to Dover." However, Churchill insisted on coming back for the French, so the Royal Navy returned on 4 June in an attempt to rescue as many as possible of the French rearguard. Over 26,000 French troops were lifted off on that last day — but between 30,000 and 40,000 French soldiers were left behind and forced to surrender to the Germans.
> 
>  
> 
> (Also on the 26 was the First successful helicopter flight in US: Vought-Sikorsky US-300 designed by Igor Sikorsky. Pity Tony never met him.)


	11. Big Fish eat Little Fish, and So On, Ad Infinitum

Tony and Steve were in Central Park, enjoying the sunshine. Normally Tony would be working, but he had a split lip, which made cock-sucking too painful. Steve hadn't been doing too well, lately, which was worrisome. Bucky said he normally perked up in the summer, but he'd been fretting about the war, and getting himself into fights with isolationists, belligerent pacifists, anti-Semitics, and other idiot sympathizers with Hitler. They couldn't stand guard over him; it wasn't as if Steve was a child.

So they invented excuses for doing things to cheer him up. Which was why Tony was sitting on the ground with a fat duck in his lap, feeding it bread and fending off pokes from a surprisingly hard bill while Steve laughed and doodled quick sketches. "OW," Tony yelped when he ran out of bread and the disgruntled duck pecked his hand. "Go on, get out of here, you Goosetapo." He waved the bird away and stood up. "I hope you got all the sketches you wanted."

Steve held up his sketchpad. He was still smiling. He pointed to a group of boys, playing with small boats in the nearby fountain. "I was sketching the little ships."

"And not me? My feelings are hurt. Can I see?"

"Sure." 

Tony took the sketchpad. The little ships were sketched in vividly, with great battleships behind them, hazy in the mist and smoke of bombs and gouts of seawater from artillery shells. Each little ship was loaded with tiny soldiers, weary, but determined, climbing aboard, holding onto each other, reaching back to help one another. Tony blinked. "Oh," he said softly. "The Little Ships."

"Yeah." Steve went to a nearby bench and sat down. He raised his head to look at the clouds through a canopy of maple leaves. "Anything that could float, I heard. Imagine it. Old fishermen. Rich yachtsmen. People who thought they could never help in the war, and they did. They were little, and no one thought much of them, but they helped save those soldiers."

"Huh." Tony sat next to Steve. "Makes you think? I heard the weather helped, too."

"Yeah." Steve smiled. "Maybe Hitler shouldn't have melted those church bells."

 

In the middle of that sun-filled day of optimism, they heard that the Germans had entered Paris. 

 

Steve got into a fight, and couldn't, or wouldn't, tell Bucky and Tony what had started it. All he would say was, "You should see the other guy... not a mark on him."

On the 8th, Tony was sitting at Steve's table, leafing through the rest of the newspaper after Steve had extracted the news sections to add notes to his world map. Things didn't look good for France or Norway...or really anywhere the Nazis turned their gaze. "Oh, I wish I was in California!" Tony said abruptly.

"Why? You don't even like oranges that much," Steve muttered, frowning as he added cross-hatches to his map.

"They created a new element at Berkeley. They're calling it Neptunium, after Neptune. Oh, I wish I could make a new element."

"So you could name it Tonium?" Steve grinned, looking up, drawn by Tony's excitement.

"Nah. There's already Plutonium, named after Pluto. It'd be too confusing. No, when I invent my new element it'll have to be Starkium."

Steve laughed and leaned over to pat Tony on the arm. "Sure it will."

The next day Norway surrendered to Germany. Steve wasn't laughing any more. No one was. It seemed like every day there was another major announcement. If countries weren't declaring war on each other, the governments were retreating, hopelessly trying to keep things together even as the Nazis overran their countries. A lot of generals and heads of state were exiles in London. Winston Churchill was giving eloquently defiant speeches while Paris was evacuating ahead of the Nazis. Rumors were that Hitler wanted to stand in front of the Eiffel Tower and gloat.

"It doesn't feel right that we're not doing anything," Steve said as he dished up dinner for Bucky after a hard day on the docks.

Around a mouthful of franks and beans, Bucky said, "I saw an Italian tanker captured today. That's something."

"One tanker."

Bucky leaned forward. "I helped load crates on the Eastern Princess today. One of them had a cracked board and I saw inside it. We're sending arms to Britain."

"Good," Steve said after a moment's thought. "That's good. But it's not enough. Heck, Canada declared war on Italy. _Canada!_ " Steve thumped the pot down on the table and stuck a spoon in. 

"Eat your beans, Steve."

Steve sighed. "Canada," he said mournfully.

 

Tony sailed up the steps on Friday evening. "Put on your glad rags, Steve! We're going to see the Count!"

"What Count?" Steve looked up from polishing his shoes. Bucky had come in from a hard day at the dock and was trying to take a nap, with a newspaper over his face to keep out the light. "And why should we go see him?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Count Basey!" Tony tugged at Steve's sleeve. "I stopped by the Apollo to tell some of Rhodey's friends how he's doing and Count Basey is there! C'mon, Steeeve."

"Oh, jazz. I love jazz." Bucky came in from the bedroom, shaking his hair out of his eyes. 

"Fine. I can't take the sad eyes from both of you at once," Steve said, laughing as he put down the shoe rag. 

They had a fine time listening to hot sax and cool jazz, and then took the subway home. It was a little confusing because the BMT had been merged with the IRT and the IND and things were still in flux, but Bucky and Steve got home without too much delay. Tony had taken a different train to get to wherever he was currently hanging his hat. He tended to move a lot, once the landlord realized his profession.

The next day France surrendered. 

A French General, Charles de Gaulle, spoke from London, telling Frenchmen to resist, to defy the Nazi occupiers. Churchill gave a speech.

It didn't matter where you went in the city, everyone was tense. Some people picked fights, some people tried to pretend the war wasn't going to reach them- after all, there was a whole ocean between them and Europe. People still went to the World's Fair, and tried to find amusement in whatever ways they could afford.

Steve picked up the latest issue of Detective Comics. He wasn't sure about this new sidekick the Batman had picked up. Well, he'd give it a few more issues. Robin's outfit was even sillier than Batman's. At least Batman was hard to see at night. Seemed foolish to dress the hero up in bright colors, and make them a target. Might as well paint a bulls' eye on them. He guessed people needed a hero now, even if it was someone dressed in tights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I found [ a photo](http://nycma.lunaimaging.com/luna/servlet/detail/RECORDSPHOTOUNITARC~15~15~459308~109072:mac_2668) of a crowd at the World's Fair. Gives you an idea why Tony had to cling to Steve.)
> 
> The present New York City Subway system is composed of three formerly separate systems: the Interborough Rapid Transit Company (IRT), the Brooklyn–Manhattan Transit Corporation (BMT), and the Independent Subway System (IND). Unification in June 1940 by the New York City Board of Transportation brought the three systems under one operator.  
> June 4th - British end Operation Dynamo, having rescued over 338,000 men.
> 
> 8th - Discovery of element 93, neptunium, announced (named for Neptune as it follows uranium and Neptune follows Uranus in the planetary sequence. Plutonium created in 1940 (at Berkeley University, California) was named after Pluto by the same logic. Pluto was officially discovered in March 13, 1930, and named after the god of the Underworld- it caught the public fancy and Disney named Mickey Mouse's new canine companion after it.
> 
> June 10, 1940 American authorities captured Italian tanker Brennero (4948grt) at New York.
> 
> June 13, 1940 American steamer Eastern Princess (grt) departed New York with the first arms shipment to Britain. 
> 
> Friday June 14, 1940 Count Basie attends Coleman Hawkins' opening at the Apollo Theatre. He takes part in a jam session with Hawkins and other visiting bandleaders; Pete Brown (alto sax), Joe Marsala (clarinet), Bunny Berigan, Roy Eldridge (trumpets), Tommy Dorsey, Jack Jenney (trombones), John Kirby (bass) and Gene Krupa (drums.)
> 
> 15th - France surrenders to Hitler, German troops occupy Paris
> 
> June 20, 1940 American heavy cruiser Vincennes (CA-44) arrived at New York City with destroyers Truxtun (DD-229) and Simpson (DD-221) to deliver French gold embarked at Casablanca, Morocco.  18th - Gen Charles de Gaulle on BBC tells French to defy nazi occupiers. Winston Churchill urges perseverance so that future generations would remember that "this was their finest hour"  
> 
> June 29th - US passes Alien Registration Act requiring Aliens to register


	12. Battered

"It's Steve's birthday, so it's his choice," Tony said. "If he wants to wait on line in the heat to go look at an old piece of paper then that's what we'll do." The crowd outside the British pavilion was larger than usual, partly because the war news had people putting their hopes in Britain keeping Germany at bay, and partly just because it was Independence Day.

"Right." Bucky nodded solemnly. "The Magna Carta's very important. Historical. We should be absorbing culture and history." 

"Didn't we do that this morning when we toured The Masterpieces of Art instead of the Communications and Business Systems?" Tony asked, eyes wide in innocence. "Thirty five galleries worth of... well, there were a lot of naked people, but they were all paintings or sculptures."

Steve laughed. "All right, all right, we'll go to the Amusements area first. But we're not going back to the Congress of Beauty! Those poor girls were embarrassed."

"Fine," Bucky said with a grin. "There's plenty of other things to do. But I'm not going on the Parachute Jump again!"

 

They did talk him into a camel ride, though.

 

"I don't believe that's real ice," Tony said loudly during the Frozen Alive show as the pretty topless girl lay down inside a hollow ice 'coffin' and was 'sealed' inside with more slabs of ice. "You'd DIE if you were frozen."

Steve clapped his hand over Tony's mouth. Bucky smirked and whispered, "Birdseye is behind the curtain. He's thinking to market fresh-frozen tomatoes." Steve elbowed Bucky in the ribs. When Steve lifted his hand, Tony said, "I got my tongue stuck to a flagpole once." 

Bucky smacked Tony lightly on the back of the head. "Shut up and watch the show."

Steve patted Tony consolingly, because he was sulking, and whispered, "I think you're right."

 

They wandered back slowly, after watching the colored dancers Jitterbug, and the ice skaters, and Billy Rose's Aquacade, with Johnny Weismuller and Elanor Holm. Even Bucky had to admit the waterfalls and lighting and synchronized swimming were worth the eighty cents. Even though the girls wore more than at most of the other exhibits. 

It was almost three thirty before they came within view of the British Pavilion. The crowd was a little less than before, but there were still more than a thousand people, by Steve's estimate, in the Magna Carta room so it took a while before they could get close enough for Tony, as the shortest one of them, to get a good look at it.

They were finally close enough to get a look, when there was a loud BANG. A few people glanced up. Bucky said, "Early for fireworks, isn't it? It's not dark yet."

Tony said, "I don't think it was fireworks, unless someone goofed and set one off inside a building. That was big. Really big." 

Steve looked around. He had enough of a height advantage that he could see past most of the crowd, to one of the attendants. The man was pale and shaking and looking towards the rear of the building. "Let's find out," Steve said. He hung onto Tony and Bucky as they made their way against the stream of people still coming in to look at the Magna Carta.

"Sir," Steve said as they came close, "what was that noise?" 

The man just stared at him for a moment, and then he shook his head. "Nothing to be concerned about, I'm sure. Lads having a bit of fun on your holiday, I expect. Excuse me, gentlemen." With that he turned and headed towards the back of the building.

The three friends looked at each other, and then wordlessly followed the Briton to a service passageway of plain beige-painted walls and floor, entirely without any of the murals or other gaud of the Fair. The attendant never looked back. He flung open a door to the outside and ran across a street.

There was.

Smoke, and a horrible mixed smell of acrid chemicals, cement dust, and grass, and blood. And the sounds of people in pain. The three of them weren't close to it, but they couldn't overlook the enormous crater and the wounded police officers and... the remains of people who were... just... gone. "Sweet mother of God," Bucky said, grabbing onto Steve's arm in shock. "It was a bomb."

"I... I'm going to be sick now, I think," Tony said quietly.

"We have to go help them," Steve said. "Tony, be sick later." Steve shook Bucky's hand off and made his way over the rubble-strewn street to the nearest wounded police officer. The attendant from the British pavilion was trying to help another man. Steve took off his coat to make a pillow for the man's head. 

There wasn't much they could do, but they stayed with the wounded men until the ambulances arrived.

Afterward the attendant showed them an employee's washroom. As they were washing blood off their hands, Bucky said, "Do you think that was a Nazi bomb?"

Steve shook his head. "Who knows? It was a coward. A coward and a bully. I hate bullies."

And then Tony was sick.

 

They went back to Steve and Bucky's apartment, and Tony stayed the night. Of the three of them, Tony was the one who woke up with nightmares. Sometimes they forgot how young he really was.

 

The next day they heard that the British Royal Navy had sunk the French fleet at Oran, Algeria to keep the surrendered ships from being used by the Germans, killing 1267 French sailors.

They didn't feel like going back to the Fair. It no longer felt like a distraction from the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lincoln Cathedral’s Magna Carta is one of only four surviving originals of the copies made in 1215. Their copy left Britain in 1939 for the first time to be on exhibit in the British Pavilion. After Britain joined World War II it was deemed safer for it to remain in America than risk it lost in transit. It stayed in Fort Knox, next to the original copy of the American constitution, until 1947.
> 
> At the AT&T Pavilion the Voder, a mechanized, synthetic voice, spoke. At the IBM pavilion, electric typewriters and an "electric calculator" that used punched cards, were on display. 
> 
> The Masterpieces of Art building held 300 Old Masters, from the Middle Ages to 1800 (estimated value at the time $30,000,000.) There were works from DaVinci and Michelangelo to Rembrandt, from Hals to Caravaggio and Bellini.
> 
> The Amusements Area didn't follow any particular theme. Frank Buck's Jungleland displayed rare birds, reptiles and wild animals. There was also an 80-foot"monkey mountain" with 600 monkeys, and camel rides. 
> 
> Women in very revealing costumes or topless were features of many of the exhibits. There were a number of protests by prominent politicians over the course of the fair about this and the New York Vice Squad raided shows on several occasions, but the public generally accepted this form of entertainment.
> 
> [home movie, World's Fair amusement area](https://archive.org/details/0639_HM_Medicus_collection_New_York_Worlds_Fair_1939-40_Reel_6_15_01_00_00)
> 
> [ Frozen Alive](http://www.1939nyworldsfair.com/worlds_fair/wf_tour/Zone-7/Frozen_Alive.htm)
> 
> In March of 2013, one of the Frozen Alive girls celebrated her 100th birthday! So she outdid Steve.
> 
>  On July 4, 1940 a bomb was found in the British Pavilion. The day before, an American electrician in the British pavilion noticed a small bag in the fan room that looked like an off-colored canvas overnight case. He thought one of the employees had left it and ignored it. At about 3:30 pm on the 4th, he heard ticking coming from the bag and thinking it was a radio, he took it down through a public staircase thronged with about 1,500 visitors to the pavilion and gave it to a Briton who was in charge of building services. Then they took the bag back through the public area to the Magna Carta room where it was shown to one of the British uniformed staff of the building. He listened to it, heard the ticking and called the NYPD and the bomb squad was notified. 
> 
> There were no bomb sniffing dogs, no protective gear or bomb removal trucks (one of the officers had borrowed his sister's car to answer the call). Formal training was minimal. Investigating bombs was considered a sideline that was assigned to the Forgery Squad. Most bombs were duds, and the few that weren't normally only caused minimal property damage. The plans simply called for immersing the suspected device in lubricating oil.  
> 
> Before the bomb squad arrived, one of the policemen on duty at the fair  took the bag out a back door and across a street to a cyclone fence that borders the fair grounds; the area was about 150 feet from the nearest building, the Polish pavilion. Two bomb squad detectives arrived and attempted to disarm the bomb which was still ticking. They cut a small hole in the bag making visible the sticks of dynamite inside. Before they could do anything, the bomb exploded, killing both of them instantly. It left a crater in the ground thirty feet in circumference. The blast blew out windows on the Polish Pavilion and severely injured the five policemen cordoning off area, including those who had thought they were far enough to escape the effects of the bomb. 
> 
> Whether from financial concern (the Fair had been losing money all along) or fear of mass panic, the Fair was kept open and the pavilions were all opened the next day on time.
> 
> 5th - Diplomatic relations broken between Britain & Vichy government in France
> 
> Some of the 350 refugee British children who arrived in New York City on July 8, 1940, aboard the British liner Samaria. They were the first large contingent of English children sent from the isles to be free of the impending Nazi invasion. 
> 
>  9th - RAF bombs Germany
> 
>  10th - Battle of Britain began as Nazi forces attack by air (114 days)  
> Also on the 10th [ FDR speech ](http://www.ibiblio.org/pha/policy/1940/1940-06-10a.html) at Charlottesville, Va., addressing the graduating class of the University of Virginia and over the radio to the world, ended with, 'I call for effort, courage, sacrifice, devotion. Granting the love of freedom, all of these are possible. And the love of freedom is still fierce, still steady in the nation today.'
> 
>  19th - Hitler orders Great Britain to surrender
> 
>  23rd - "Blitz" all-night air raid by German bombers on London begins(date might be wrong or maybe it's England, not London?)


	13. Fish or Cut Bait

Tony returned to joking with Steve and Bucky as usual, but he had nightmares the next few nights, until one night he woke up hearing his father's voice saying, 'Starks are made of iron. We don't cry, because we'd rust.' He wasn't sure but he thought he remembered his father telling him that when he was very little. He'd been crying over a scraped knee, maybe. Avoiding the Fair wasn't helping him forget the bomb. He should face his fears.

So he went back to the Fair by himself. He went into the British pavilion and looked at the Magna Carta again. Was a piece of paper, no matter how historical, worth lives? Steve would have said it wasn't the paper, it was that the Magna Carta meant that even a king couldn't bully his own people. Steve had said his mother taught him to always stand up again, no matter how many times you were knocked down. 

He wondered if his father and Steve's mother would have liked Tony. Tony... he got along. He fought when he had to, but he didn't do it because it was the right thing to do. Not until he met Steve. Steve made him a better man. 

He stared at the parchment for a while and then he nodded and left the pavilion.

 

Since he was here anyway, he decided to go to the Communications and Business Systems Zone. He'd heard that Westinghouse had a robot. Probably a cam-driven automaton with a set range of motion, or maybe a little guy hiding inside it, but even so, Westinghouse had a real laboratory and real engineers, there would be something interesting to see.

Tony stayed for hours, watching Elektro the Mechanical Man, and his pal 'Sparko'. They were real. Sparko was pretty limited, with his wagging and barking and sitting up, but Elektro-- Elektro actually responded to spoken commands. The hole in his chest showed glimpses of mechanisms that Tony itched to get his hands on. He kept moving to get a different view. Finally, in between shows, the man who controlled Elektro called Tony over and gave him a 'diagram' of Elektro's inner workings. It was simplified to the point of near abstraction, but still, it was a good souvenir. He was allowed to pat Sparko and laughed when it wagged its tail. Tony decided he really loved robots, even if they were dummies.

 

The war news didn't improve. Britain was under attack by bombers, with the RAF overstretched but fighting back fiercely. Countries Tony had never even heard of were being invaded or annexed. It got to the point they all just blurred together in his mind and he had a mental picture of a world gone crazy. And the atrocity stories against the Jews, the gypsy folk....anyone Hitler saw as different from his perfect Aryan ideal was a target, including homosexuals. Tony was a little ashamed of himself that the last disturbed him the most. 

"Let's go to the Roseland Ballroom," Tony said early one evening, as he entered Steve and Bucky's apartment to find them once more sitting gloomily around the radio listening to news. "They have a good band."

"Who's the singer?" Bucky said, with mild interest.

"Um..." Tony racked his memory. "Some Italian kid. Frankie Sinatra."

"Never heard of him." Bucky turned back to the radio. "I don't want to pay to listen to a nobody."

"Oh, come on, fellas. This is boring." Tony flopped down onto a seat next to Steve. "Can't we even tune in a music station? Even Major Bowes Amateur Hour is better than this."

"Major Bowes is a bully," Steve said.

Tony sighed and leaned his head against Steve's chest. "So bored." 

Steve patted him on the head. "Shh. It's almost over."

The speaker on the radio said, "Let us have total defense and have it now. What a magnificent gesture that will be to give pause to these devil men, new hope to our friends who still stand proudly erect before the common enemy, and to those equally our friends who wait with longing hearts for the deliverance for which, under the Providence of God, they shall not wait in vain."

Steve nodded in agreement. "That was William Standley. He's an admiral. He wants the President to declare a national emergency so we can legally give Great Britain our old battleships from the Great War. Heck, they're surplus! They were even decommissioned until a little while ago."

"Makes sense," Tony said. "Who could be against that?"

"Oh, you know, Senator Lindberg is leading the 'Keep out of War Congress," Bucky said. "He's got a bee in his bonnet about Jews. He thinks they're financing the campaign for the draft and making up war hysteria."

Tony shook his head. "Okay. I think we need to get away from the gloom and doom for a while. You're too cheap for the Roseland, but it's Saturday and the Goldman Band is giving a free concert in the Music Grove at Prospect Park."

"Do you have all the free concerts scheduled memorized?" Steve asked, amused. He got up and went for his hat, silently giving approval to the idea.

"Of course! It's easy to remember dates and times, it's just numbers."

Bucky turned off the radio. "Then how come you're always late when we meet up?"

"I... I'll have to talk to my secretary about that. She's supposed to keep track of my appointments." Tony bounced out of the apartment ahead of them.

"You don't HAVE a secretary!" Bucky shouted down the stairs.

 

Steve kept listening to speeches on the radio. Tony would come in with an offering of bagels, and Steve would boil a pot of coffee while they listened to both sides argue about whether or not America should gear up for war. Tony had to admit that he thought the draft would be setting a bad precedent. He didn't trust the government, after all, hadn't they allowed the stock market manipulations that led to the crash, and his parents' death? But on the other hand, Steve was right, stepping aside while a bully beat someone else up wasn't just wrong- it encouraged the bully to come after you next. The only way you got respect was by earning it.

Bucky was finding work at the docks most days, and Steve had tried to get hired with the WPA. While they liked his art and his ideas for posters, once more the work went to people supporting families. So he had a lot of time to sit looking out the window when his lungs were acting up, or his heart was fluttering. Tony hated it when he'd come up and Steve would be all quiet and have that faraway look in his eyes, like he was contemplating other worlds.

"Hey! Steve! Guess what's happening today!" Tony said as he dropped a bag with Steve's favorite, sesame seed bagels, on the table.

"I don't know, Tony," Steve said softly. He smiled at Tony, but it was a pale, thin smile. "Haven't had the radio on today. They're still bombing London, right?"

"Yeah." Tony nodded. "But it's not doing anyone any good, you sitting here and being all mopey. Are you sick?" Tony felt Steve's forehead, and the glands in his throat and the muscle at the back of his neck, looking for signs of a cold or asthma attack.

Steve rolled his eyes and pushed Tony's hands away. "I'm fine. Gimme a bagel and quit mother-henning."

"Right." Tony handed Steve a bagel. "You're fine, I'm fine, the sun is shining, and it's a beautiful day to go to Coney Island." Tony tilted his head. "Huh, did that rhyme?"

"No, Tony, it didn't." Steve smiled and bit into the bagel.

"Well, close enough." Tony grabbed another bagel and twirled it on his finger. "Anyway! Coney Island. You, me. Sunshine. Sounds like a winning combination?"

"I burn."

"Wear an overcoat. I don't care. Come on, Steve, I want to go and it's no fun by myself."

"Maybe tomorrow."

"No, it's got to be today." Tony looked at his watch, which Bucky had mysteriously found for him as an incentive to show up on time. Tony wasn't sure it fell off the back of a truck, but it was a cheap watch, so no one was looking for it. "We should be there before two!"

"Are they holding concerts on the beach now?" Steve was getting a little color in his cheeks, and his smile was more natural.

"Better than that! It's the third annual Life Guard Tournament! Just think of it!"

Steve's lips quirked up. "You're suggesting we go to ogle well-built men in skin-tight suits swimming?"

"Yes! Well, no, when you say it like that, it sounds so limiting. They'll be rescuing each other! And boat races. Think of the boat races, all that... rowing...and you know."

Steve laughed. "I know. All right." He put down the half-eaten bagel and stood up. "Let's go. I'll even buy you a knish."

"You know the way to my heart, Steve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A proposition to turn the World's Fair site into a military camp is on [ my blog.](http://feng-shui-house.dreamwidth.org/1400912.html) for those who wish to read it.
> 
> [ Elektro ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T35A3g_GvSg) at the Westinghouse exhibit at the Fair in 1939. Maybe Stan Lee saw this golden robot with a glowing hole in his chest who moved on roller skates under his boots?
> 
> [Elektro is STILL around!](http://www.cnet.com/news/elektro-1939-smoking-robot-saved-from-oblivion/)   
> Frank Sinatra broadcasted with the Harry James Orchestra, August 1940, at the Roseland Ballroom. 
> 
> Alan King while discussing Bowes with Johnny Carson, stomped on the floor and yelled, "Can you hear me down there, Major Bowes?" suggesting that the late radio host had been consigned to Hell as punishment for his brusque dispatch of untalented young performers.
> 
> August 8, Germany began sending an armada of airplanes against Britain – their target radar stations and forward fighter-plane air bases. Britain's pilots, outnumbered, shot down many German aircraft, prompting Churchill's statement that never had so many owed so much to so few.
> 
> [speech given WILLIAM H. STANDLEY, Admiral, U. S. Navy](http://www.ibiblio.org/pha/policy/1940/1940-08-10a.html) on August 10, 1940 
> 
> [ mention of Charles Lindbergh's ](http://www.fsmitha.com/h2/ch22-3.htm) opposition to US involvement in the war. 
> 
> NYC Dept. of Parks held all sorts of free events, including swimming lessons, children's dance and sporting contests, golf tournaments, barbershop quartet singing contests, public dances, and a variety of public concerts- some under the auspices of the WPA Federal Music Project. 
> 
> [ Speech By Senator BURTON K. WHEELER,](http://www.ibiblio.org/pha/policy/1940/1940-08-15a.html) of the "Keep Out of War Congress" August 15, 1940 PEACE TIME CONSCRIPTION A MENACE TO OUR LIBERTIES Speech: If this Bill passes—it will slit the throat of the last Democracy still living—it will accord to Hitler his greatest and cheapest victory. On the headstone of American Democracy he will inscribe—"Here Lies The Foremost Victim Of The War Of Nerves."'
> 
>  17th - Hitler orders total blockade of Great-Britain 
> 
>  20th - 1st Polish squadrons fight along in the Battle of Britain Also on that day- British PM Churchill says of Royal Air Force, "Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few" 
> 
> speech By GENERAL HUGH S. JOHNSON, Political Commentator and Formerly Director, N.R.A.  August 23, 1940 "I want to talk to you about Selective Service—Speech ended with - Let's not encourage Hitler's Nazi philosophy by any further fumbling with the established superior efficiency of America in both war and peace. Let's prove in 1940 against him, as we proved in 1918 against the Kaiser, that our democracy can defend against any form of autocracy on earth. Let's start now."
> 
> On August 23 the Germans began attacking aircraft factories and inland fighter-plane bases in Britain. 
> 
> On August 24, a lost formation of German bombers mistakenly (the German pilots had been instructed not to bomb London as Hitler felt he could cow Britain into neutrality by attacking military targets) dropped their bombs on London, damaging a few buildings. In  retaliation the British sent bombers against Berlin the next night. Cloud cover limited the bombing, and the damage to buildings was slight. Ten Germans were killed and twenty-nine wounded. It was the first bombing of Berlin, and the Germans were shocked. Hitler told an audience that when the British declare they will raze "our cities" then we will "raze their cities to the ground."
> 
> Hitler began a massive bombing campaign against London. This change of tactics saved the fighter-plane bases and the radar system that the Germans had almost destroyed. Germany's massive bomber attack on London did not break down the British resolve, nor did it do much damage to British industry. Many buildings were destroyed, 6,954 people were killed and 10,615 were wounded, but the bombing campaign against London also led to a serious loss of German pilots and aircraft. Disappointed, Hitler on September 17 reduced the size and frequency of his assaults against Britain – just in time for the relief that Britain needed. And Hitler postponed "until further notice" an invasion of Britain which they had been expecting since Dunkirk.


	14. Codswallop

"Well, that's something," Steve said, as he turned off the radio. 

"Sounds like a good deal to me," Tony replied from where he was sitting at Steve's pretty little table which was covered by a protective layer of newspaper while he repaired Mrs. O'Shaughnessy's typewriter. She wrote up beautiful letters of recommendation for people. Tony didn't think anyone had ever got hired on the strength of them, but it was like carrying a rabbit's foot. It couldn't hurt. The one she promised to write for Tony in return for fixing the cranky machine sounded like a work of art. "We get rid of fifty moth-balled destroyers and Britain gives up bases in the tropics. Mmm, the Bahamas." Tony teased a bent key free and picked out a lump of cat hair.

"I don't think any military base will be a vacation spot, Tony."

Tony shrugged. "Warmth is warmth." He knew how the cold went right through Steve's bones, even bundled up in the best he and Bucky had been able to scrounge last winter. It was only the third of September and still warm, but he's seen Steve shiver in shadows. "Wanna hop a freight and go to Miami this winter? Save on coal." He was only half-joking.

"I like Brooklyn." Steve pulled out his sketchpad and began drawing Tony's hands, and the typewriter. "Miami's got... alligators. I talked to some of the people at the Seminole exhibit. Mosquitoes, too. Ones that'd make a New Jersey skeeter look like nothin'."

Tony sighed. "You've dashed all my dreams, Steve." 

Steve smiled. "You could join the Army and ask to be assigned to the Bahamas." He gave Tony an innocent look. "You're such a swell fella, I'm sure they'd be glad to oblige."

Tony tossed a bit of Fluffy O'Shaughnessy's fur at Steve.

 

"How's the war going?" Tony asked when he showed up at dinnertime with two pounds of baloney, an extra gift from a butcher whose wife 'didn't understand his needs'. Tony was all for wives too fastidious to cock-suck, if it helped pay his bills. He opened the package and laid it on the table.

"Britain's holding out," Bucky said. "Oh, baloney. Great, we were going to have rolls and cabbage soup." Bucky began splitting the rolls and spreading them with saved bacon grease while Tony sat down in front of the bowl of soup laid on for him. It warmed him. Not the soup, but the assumption that he'd be there to share. He spooned up a mouthful and blew on it.

"No one knows why Germany hasn't invaded." Steve said. "Thanks," he said as he took his baloney sandwich from Bucky and dipped the edge of the hard roll in his soup. "They've got hundreds of barges from German and Dutch harbors massed in ports of northern France, poised to cross the Channel."

"Maybe they want to soften Britain up first." Tony bit into his own roll.

"How much softening do they want?" Bucky asked. He wasn't as obsessive about following the news as Steve, but he'd been getting work at the docks and heard a lot of things beyond the official news. "They've sent hundreds of bombers every day since the seventh. I hear London's docks are a shambles, the train lines are cut..."

"But the people haven't lost their spirit," Steve said quietly. "Bullies never feel like they've won until you're licking their boots. The RAF is chewing up the German planes."

"With Hurricanes and Spitfires, mostly," Tony said. He liked airplanes. He loved them. "The Hurricane isn't all that fast, but it's maneuverable and reliable, which is probably more important in battle, but the Spitfire... yeah, I would _love_ to get my hands on one of those babies." He dropped his roll into his soup without noticing, caught up in his enthusiasm. "In 1931, a Supermarine floatplane won the international Schneider Trophy, setting a speed record of 407 miles an hour! They've fixed a lot of the problems with the Mark-1 Spitfire, I can tell from the photographs. The Mark-II is a beauty, but could still be improved."

"Tony," Steve said, "Eat your soup." He smiled. "Maybe after the war is over, you can build airplanes?"

"Oh, hey, yeah! Rhodey and I are gonna go halfsies on a flying circus! Or maybe mail planes." Tony chattered on while his soup got cold.

 

On the eleventh Tony watched a demonstration of 'remote computing' at Bell Labs thanks to Professor Einstein. No one would let him near the machine, but he saw enough to make his mind spin. Everything was numbers when you got down to it. Someday Elektro, or his cousins, would be able to do a lot more than smoke cigarettes and count the number of the Dionne quintuplets on their fingers.

 

"HEY, UMP, ARE YOU BLIND?!" Steve shouted, but he wasn't alone. He and Tony and Bucky were enjoying a Saturday at Ebbets Field. That is, they had been enjoying it until the the Cincinnati Reds beat the Brooklyn Dodgers 4-3 in ten innings. "WHAT A LOAD OF CODSWALLOP!"

Tony really didn't care that much for sports, but he got caught up in the enthusiasm, and yelled along with everyone else. When the crowd got up and surged forward, he and Bucky locked arms with Steve to keep them all together and on their feet. The Dodger's manager, Leo Durocher, was yelling and egging them on, but really, tensions were so high, it wouldn't have taken much to cause a riot. Tony had to laugh when they got onto the field and saw a fat guy sitting on the umpire, flailing at him.

They returned to the apartment, nursing various bruises and laughing, feeling relaxed after the catharsis of the riot, but then Steve unrolled the afternoon edition of the Times. "The Bill passed."

Neither Tony nor Bucky had to ask which bill, but Tony did anyway. "The Draft?"

Steve nodded. "Men between twenty-one and thirty-six are to register for the draft lottery." Steve picked up his hat. "I'm going to register."

"It's Saturday. They haven't even set up draft boards yet," Bucky pointed out. "Where are you gonna go?"

"I... I dunno, but I'll find out." Steve put his hat on and marched out the door. 

"So never going to happen." Bucky sighed. "Look after Steve while I'm gone, Tony."

"What makes you think I'm not going to be at the front, too?" Tony asked, feeling a bit like his manhood had been insulted. Only a bit, because Bucky wasn't like that.

"You were seventeen last May, and you have a baby face. You aren't gonna fool anyone into thinking you're twenty-one."

Tony huffed. "I'll grow a beard."

"IF you could, you'd look like a Communist or a hobo. I don't think they want them, either." 

 

"You should volunteer now," Steve told Bucky a week later after they both registered and were waiting, like the rest of the country, for local draft boards to be set up. "That way you get to choose your service."

"Eh, the army always needs men, that's where I'll wind up," Bucky said as he peeled potatoes over a newspaper. "If I volunteer now, I'll be away training forever, I bet. I want to sign up when there's something happening."

Tony had been set to mincing Spam. He looked up at Bucky. "There's always the Navy."

"Oh, God no, I get seasick loading at the docks." Bucky wiped his sleeve across his forehead. "Be a shame to waste my hard-earned spud-peeling skills. Yeah, all right. Soon as I can."

"If you get in early, you get the pick of the girls admiring you in uniform," Steve said.

Bucky grinned. "Yeah, I hadn't thought of that."

Tony stopped mincing to look at Bucky. "Sure you didn't." He noticed the potato peelings were starting to slide off the newspaper onto Steve's ma's pretty table, so he grabbed a few sheets from the paper in front of him, but stopped as an article caught his eye. "Huh. Tesla. I didn't know he was still alive." Tony sat down and began to read. He was shaking his head in a few seconds and mumbling under his breath. "Oh, that's just... c'mon, Nicky! That's just... oh, like _that's_ gonna happen."

"What?" Steve finally asked, when Tony put down the paper, still shaking his head.

"Nikola Tesla has gone senile." Tony looked at Bucky and Steve, seeing no recognition. "Tesla? Genius with electricity?" Tony blinked. "All right. He wants the government to give him two million dollars to build a teleforce death ray plant. And tells the government to trust him because he would 'suffer no interference from experts'."

After a moment of consideration Steve said, "Well, if it's a secret weapon, I could see how he wouldn't want to risk spies getting hold of it."

"He's eighty-four! Even suppose it works, what if he keels over with all the plans trapped in his head?" Tony tapped the paper. "Can you imagine winding up with _one_ secret weapon after all that?"

"Better than none," Bucky chimed in, cheerfully. 

"It doesn't sound feasible to me, anyway," Tony grumbled. "An entirely new principle of physics? A beam that can be directed two hundred and fifty miles to melt engines and blow up explosives? Even if it worked, how can you find the targets? How can you be sure you aren't frying your friends? And how many beams can it emit at one time? The Germans are sending a lot of bombers and fighters against England. And..."

Steve rolled his eyes and picked up the plate of Spam and continued mincing, while Tony got on with being indignant over Science.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sept 3 FDR trades 50 old destroyers for 99-year leases on bases in the Bahamas, Antigua, St Lucia, Trinidad, Jamaica and British Guiana.  
> Sept 6 CANADA: HMS Duchess brought six cavity magnetrons. Britain shared the discovery with the US. Bell Telephone Lab., a Radiation Lab. set up on M.I.T.'s campus and the Telecommunications Research Establishment in Great Britain all worked on it. By late 1941, portable centimetric radars had been developed. They could detect objects as small as a submarine periscope, making submerged submarines vulnerable to air attack. They also improved the accuracy of Allied bombers and made the Allied battleships more deadly and, along with the newly developed proximity fuze, made anti-aircraft guns much more dangerous to attacking aircraft. The two coupled together and used by anti-aircraft batteries, placed along the flight path of German V-1 flying bombs on their way to London, are credited with destroying many of the flying bombs before they reached their targets.  
> Sept 7 350 German bombers protected by twice as many fighter planes bombed London's docks. 2,000 Londoners dead or injured and the whole area engulfed by flames, all railway links south were blocked. GHQ Home Forces sent out code word "Cromwell": invasion imminent. But the massive bombing attack wasn't followed up by movement of the invasion fleet of hundreds of self-propelled barges from France.  
> Sept 11 Bell Labs developed a digital calculator, demonstrated to the American Mathematical Association at Dartmouth College. Mathematicians proposed problems, transmitted to the computer in New York City via a teleprinter. The answers returned over the telephone line hookup within a minute.  
> Sept 16 [ NY Times.](http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/chat/2590193/posts) The Selective Training and Service Act of 1940- the first peacetime draft (conscription) in US history. Men between 21 and 36 years old to be registered for the draft lottery- soon expanded to the ages of 18 and 45. If chosen they would be required to serve a twelve month term in the military. The length of the required term was also expanded.  
> The first call up of National Guard units, including the 71st regiment, stationed in New York City. [ Detailed summary of the 71st during WWII.](http://dmna.ny.gov/historic/reghist/wwii/infantry/71stInf/71stInfMain.htm)  
> [(Brooklyn Daily Eagle newspaper, Aug 7, 1940](http://bklyn.newspapers.com/image/52644657/%20) showing, among other things, an article about the 245th Coast Defence Artillery, based in Brooklyn) 
> 
> [Brooklyn fan beating the umpire. ](http://cdn.na16.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/umpire-1940-brooklyn-dodgers.jpg)  
> Sept 17 Enigma decoded a message to the German officer responsible for loading the transport aircraft earmarked for invasion ordering him to dismantle his air-loading equipment. Hitler had postponed Operation Sealion.  
> Sept 18 The bombing of London at night continued. Eight City churches, the West End, Downing Street, the Law Courts, and the House of Lords had all been hit. The King and Queen had been bombed twice in Buckingham Palace.  
> Sept 22 ['Death Ray' For Planes The New York Times ](http://www.rense.com/general10/deathray.htm) article.  
> Sept 23 King George announced a new decoration, the George Cross, for "deeds of valour by civilian men and women in all walks of life".  
> (from 'Berlin Diary' by William Shirer.) My friend (in the Luftwaffe) says that they have the highest admiration for their British adversaries - for their skill and their bravery. They're particularly fond of one British fighter pilot, who roars into a fight with a cigarette stuck at a smart angle between his lips. If this man is ever shot down on the German side, the German airmen have sworn to hide him and not to hand him over as a prisoner of war.  
> Sept 24 Gibraltar was Britain's most vital strategic outpost; a key base for convoy escorts. The Rock of Gibraltar was bombed on the 24th by six bomber groups of the former Armee de l'Air and 4 escadrilles of the French naval air arm. The raid should have wrecked the port, but a large number of the French pilots deliberately dropped their loads into the sea, and a large number of the fuses of the bombs that did land had been tampered with so that they would not explode.  
> Sept 27 Berlin: Japan signed a pact allying with Germany and Italy. The three countries pledge to aid one another with "all political, economic and military means" should one of them be attacked by "a power not involved in the European war." (IE the US)  
> In Washington, a navy department spokesman said that the pact would not mean any change of policy. The navy would continue to be based at Pearl Harbor.  
> Sept 28 NORWAY: Nazis deposed the King and made Vidkun Quisling "sole political leader." (Quisling now means a traitor collaborating with the enemy).


	15. Clam Up

Tony wasn't sure whether Bucky had wangled it somehow, or just got lucky, but he was assigned to training at Fort Dix in New Jersey so he was likely to be able to visit from time to time, he thought. Tony wasn't at all sure how this army training business worked but that sounded unlikely. The war news continued pretty much as expected, and even the last few blindly optimistic fools were convinced that the US would be fighting before it was over. 

Tony showed up at Steve's apartment the day Bucky left. He kicked at the door with his foot, because his arms were full.

Steve opened the door, and blinked. "What's all this?" He pointed to the duffel bag draped around Tony's shoulders and the well-worn brass-bound trunk in Tony's arms.

"Got kicked out again," Tony said cheerily. "And I thought, who do I know who might be willing to split the rent with me on a new flop?" 

"Tony." Steve stepped back to let Tony into the apartment. Tony didn't comment on Steve's reddened eyes. "Bucky told you to come, didn't he?"

"What? No, don't be silly." Tony kicked the duffel ahead of him. "He may, just may, have had a word with your landlady, though. She says so long as the rent is paid and there's no trouble, she doesn't care if there's a T. S. instead of a J.B. on the mail slot. It's not like I get a lot of correspondence anyway." Tony set the trunk down. "So? Is it all right with you?" Tony could see Steve trying to be annoyed, but he failed.

"Park your stuff outta the way," Steve said. "And remember, the right side of the bed is mine."

Tony grinned and shoved the trunk against the wall. "So. Wanna go to the Garden? I hear there's a up-and-coming kid with great moves. Sugar Ray Robinson."

"Sugar? You nickname him?"

"Oh. You're jealous, I see it, because I give Rhodey names and not you. Red hots? Bit o' Honey? Oh, yeah."

Steve blushed and muttered, "I'm not jealous, and I don't need a pet name."

"Sugar Daddy?"

"Let's go to the Garden!" Steve snatched up his coat and led the way.

"Chiclet?"

"TONY!"

 

Steve was still delivering papers, and while Tony didn't get up before dawn to help, he had got used to reading the copy Steve always brought back. Mostly it was war reports, and advertisements, both depressing for different reasons, but there was always something to catch his eye, like an ad for Camel cigarettes endorsed by a pretty Vassar girl pilot. Tony wasn't exclusive, like Bucky, but he liked to look at a pretty girl as well as a good-looking fella.

"AW, no," Tony said on the thirteenth, as he sat down at the table after a hard day being pleasant to horny bastards. Tony liked sex, but he was wearing out the knees on his trousers. It was so nice to come home to Steve. They had to be careful, not just to keep anyone from noticing them, but to keep from getting Steve sick. As a going away present, Bucky had left Steve a package of Romeos and given Tony a _look_ that warned he'd better not forget to use them. They were careful, and sometimes it worked. But even when all they could do was hold each other in bed, that was enough, more than enough, for Tony.

"What?" Steve looked up from his sketchpad. He was drawing a pigeon, having bribed the flying rat with bread crumbs to stay on the windowsill.

"Tom Mix died yesterday."

"Oh, yeah. Front page news. He made some good movies."

Tony sighed and flipped to the inside to continue reading the story. "I owe him."

"You do?"

"Yeah. You know, my real name's Anthony. Kids at the Asylum thought it was a stuck-up name, like a hairdresser or something. They used to tease me about it."

"So you changed it to Tony."

"Um hum."

Steve looked at Tony, and then peered over his shoulder at the story. _he rode a horse named Tony._ "His horse? You named yourself after Tom Mix's horse?" Steve started laughing.

"Hey! The horse was smarter than most of the kids at the Asylum! He got star billing in three movies! He got fan mail..." Tony abruptly shut up.

"You wrote fan mail to a horse."

"Shut up. It got me a photo."

Steve laughed until he was out of breath.

 

To cheer up Tony they went to the moves next Tuesday to see a Chaplin film, 'The Great Dictator'. Tony hadn't really wanted to go, since he expected it to be a silent movie and Tony hated silence. But he sat, spellbound, with Steve and the rest of the audience as Chaplin mocked Hitler and all he stood for, to the strains of Wagnerian music. "I hope Chaplin makes a million bucks from that movie," Tony said when they left the theater, in a crowd still talking about the performance.

'"I hope Hitler sees it," Steve said. "He might choke to death, and save the world a lot of trouble."

 

"Forty hour work week?" Tony said when he was reading the Times the next week. "Steve! Do you think I should punch a time clock? I think I should punch a time clock!"

"Tony, you're... self-employed," Steve said diplomatically. 

"Oh, yeah. I forgot."

"And you can't keep track of time, anyway."

"Yes, I can! Today's..." Tony sneaked a glance at the newspaper. "Thursday! Thursday the 24th! Oh, hey, the Fair's almost over. Sunday's the last day." Tony pondered that fact. 

Steve was silent for a long minute. "Bucky's got a weekend pass. I guess we could go... it feels frivolous."

"Would it help if I promise to do something not frivolous with you, to make up for it?" Tony really wanted to say good bye to Elektro.

Steve suddenly grinned. "Yeah. Monday, the President is giving a campaign speech at the Garden."

Tony dropped his head to his folded arms and whined. "Politics! So, so boring." He waved a hand. "It's a deal."

Steve shook his hand.

 

The crowd was quieter than on previous visits, and even Tony felt no need to comment when they passed the pavilions of formerly free countries, some of them no longer even separate nations. It just didn't seem right that a country could proudly display its heritage and achievements at the same time they were being stolen away. He cheered up when the fireworks started, color and noise, echoing and reflected over the Lagoon of Nations. At the end, the lights fell on the Court of Peace and the foreign pavilions. Everyone went silent, parents hushing their sleepy children. Then the band broke into "The Star-Spangled Banner" and for the first time, Tony sang along without being tempted to invent his own words. Steve held his hand tightly, invisible as they were in the darkness. Then went home in silence, and just held each other.

 

The next day they went back to Madison Square Garden, but instead of watching young men fight with gloved fists, they listened to the President. He was just as fierce as Sugar Ray, but he fought with words. It washed over Tony, but some of it stuck with him. He ripped up the Republican party's resistance to war preparation, their voting record, their reversal of stance when public opinion changed.

_I am asking the American people to support a continuance of this type of affirmative, realistic fight for peace. The alternative is to risk the future of the country in the hands of those with this record of timidity, weakness and short-sightedness or to risk it in the inexperienced hands of those who in these perilous days are willing recklessly to imply that our boys are already on their way to the transports._

_This affirmative search for peace calls for clear vision. It is necessary to mobilize resources, minds and skills, and every active force for peace in all the world._

_We have steadily sought to keep mobilized the greatest force of all- religious faith, devotion to God._

_Your Government is working at all times with representatives of the Catholic, Protestant, and Jewish faiths. Without these three, all three of them, without them working with us toward that great end, things would not be as clear or as easy._

_Shadows, however, are still heavy over the faith and the hope of mankind._

_We—who walk in the ways of peace and freedom and light have seen the tragedies enacted in one free land after another._

_We have not been blind to the causes or the consequences of these tragedies._

_We guard ourselves against all evils—spiritual as well as material—which may beset us. We guard against the forces of anti-Christian aggression, which may attack us from without, and the forces of ignorance and fear which may corrupt us from within._

_We go forward with firm faith. And we shall continue to go forward in peace._

 

 Steve held Tony's hand so tightly he was numb.

 

And the next day, when the President called out the first number for the draft, 158, Tony listened to that in silence, too. There were times even he had to be serious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2nd - British liner Empress loaded with refugees for Canada, sunk 3rd - US forms parachute troops  
> 5th Sugar Ray Robinson's debut pro fight at Madison Square Garden 7th - World War II: the McCollum memo proposes bringing the U.S. into the war in Europe by provoking the Japanese to attack the United States. 8th - German troops occupies Romania  
> 14th - Balham tube disaster during the Blitz, 8.02pm a 1400 kilo semi armour piercing bomb penetrated 32 feet underground and exploded just above the cross passage between the two platforms. In total sixty six people died (don't know whether this includes any passengers on the double-decker bus that drove into the crater while driving under blackout conditions.) 15th -Heavy German air raid on London, 400 killed. Four hundred bombers dropped 540 tons of high explosive, causing massive disruption to the entire transport network, rail, tube (Waterloo Station) and road. 15th - "The Great Dictator", a satiric social commentary film by and starring Charlie Chaplin, is released. 24th - 40 hour work week goes into effect (Fair Labor Standards of 1938) NY Times:"Calls 40 hour week no bar to defense" "Fleming on Eve of Reduction Opposes Moves to Lengthen Time Set by Wage Act"  
> 24th - Japan eliminates US terms (strike, play ball) from baseball  
> 26th - The P-51 Mustang makes its maiden flight.  
> October 27, 1940 The last night of the World's Fair.  
> 28th - Greece successfully resists Italy's attack  
> October 28, 1940 Franklin D. Roosevelt gave a Campaign Address at Madison Square Garden, New York City. Citation: Franklin D. Roosevelt: "Campaign Address at Madison Square Garden, New York City.," October 28, 1940. Online by Gerhard Peters and John T. Woolley, The American Presidency Project. http://www.presidency.ucsb.edu/ws/?pid=15885.
> 
> Under the direction of Ole Singstad of the New York City Tunnel Authority, construction of the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel commenced in October 28 1940.  29th - Secretary of War Henry L Stimson drew 1st number-158-in 1st peacetime military draft in US history, Roosevelt announced the numbers over the radio. 31st - Battle of Britain, fought between the RAF and Luftwaffe over the English Channel and southern England, ends
> 
> [ Video of opening and closing ceremonies of the Fair](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YRcORmnnNCQ) Despite the cheerful voiceover, both the 1939-40 and the 1964-65 NY World's Fairs were financial flops. But they were awesome, despite the cost.
> 
> Random bits:  
> During the great blitz of 1940 (September 7, 1940 to May 11, 1941) 'raid' libraries were set up nightly at the entrances to the London underground shelters to supply, by popular demand, mystery stories and nothing else. 
> 
> Tony was the first horse to bear the name “The Wonder Horse.” He starred in over two dozen silent and sound films during his career, becoming a celebrity in his own right. When Mix placed his handprints in the cement outside Grauman’s Chinese Theater in 1927, Tony’s hoofprints were placed alongside them. He was the first horse to be given equal billing with his human costar, and was featured in the title of three movies: Just Tony (1922), Oh! You Tony (1924), and Tony Runs Wild (1926). Tony is most known for his intelligence and ability to perform remarkable stunts. Mix reportedly did not have to train Tony, but simply show him what to do for each feat. Such stunts included untying Mix’s hands, opening gates, loosening his reins, rescuing Mix from fire, jumping from one cliff to another, and running after trains. (Pretty sure they don't allow animals to do such risky stunts these days- I hope not.)


	16. Flounder

Tony folded the paper and nodded. "I knew he was going to win, after hearing his speech. President Roosevelt has a fire in him, and these days, people want a fire to warm them."

Steve frowned at the photo of the President. "He's got fire, but I wonder if he's burning himself up. This is his third term and the times... it's got to be hard on him."

"He's tough as old shoe leather," Tony said, but he had a moment of doubt. Steve's eyesight wasn't that great, but he _saw_ a lot more clearly than most people. And Steve, more than anyone else, would know what a sick man putting on a show of strength looked like.

"Yeah," Steve said and nudged Tony's arm. "Don't listen to me, I'm just feeling a little blue. You know. November is such a gray month."

Tony nodded and put the paper aside to sit beside Steve with his arms around him. "I kinda miss Bucky, too."

 

A few days later the Tacoma Narrows bridge in Washington collapsed. Steve said, "Oh, what a shame, it was so graceful, a real work of art."

Tony huffed. "Graceful? Graceful is for ballerinas. That was supposed to be a workhorse! Look, just... look at that!" Tony pointed to the photograph in the newspaper. "It's a travesty! Look. The wind comes here, and here, and the bridge humps up and down like a roller coaster. WHICH it's not supposed to do, but ok, that's not gonna break it. But the wind comes from THERE, and... look..." Tony pointed at the solid girders on the remaining sections of bridge. "Like sideways wings on an airplane. Bridges are not meant to fly. How could you not see that coming? They called it Galloping Gertie!"

Steve shoved a ketchup sandwich into Tony's hands. "I think you're just upset because you didn't get to ride it."

"Well... maybe a little." Tony grinned and bit into the sandwich. Around a mouthful of bread and ketchup he said, "If you're gonna build something that flies, I want to try it."

 

On the eighth, the RAF bombed Munich. "This war is all about air superiority," Tony said, spreading the paper to read the dispatches and peer closely at the grainy photos of planes and pilots. "Whoever has the most, and the best equipment, has a huge advantage."

"Whoever has the best people, has the best advantage. Hold still." Tony huffed as Steve laid a damp cloth over his eye. "You gotta learn to duck."

"So do you." Tony poked at the bruise on Steve's chin. "I was doing just fine."

"Sure you were. Look, Tony, you gotta stop getting between me and what I've got coming. What good's it gonna do if both of us are too busted up to work?"

Tony was offended. "No. No, you don't get to bench me and keep all the fun for yourself." Tony took a breath. "I know you've been trying to volunteer. Do you think wearing a shiner shows 'em you've got spunk? Are you getting beat up on purpose?"

Steve put down the cloth. "No. No, that'd be stupid. It's just... I get so mad, and I can't just sit there while people are saying stuff." Steve ran a hand through his hair. "I could help. Maybe I couldn't march all day long with a forty pound pack, but I could do something. Take the place of someone more capable."

"I don't think the army works that way, Steve." Tony saw Steve set his bony jaw in a stubborn line. He added softly, "And I'm selfish. I don't want you to die. You... you're all I've got."

There was silence for a long moment, then Steve heaved a heavy sigh. "Tony. I don't think there's really that much more for me, anyway." He laid his hand on Tony's arm. "I was the selfish one, leading you on..."

Tony got up abruptly, knocking his chair to the floor as he shook Steve's hand off. "Don't say that! You're fine! So you're not Charles Atlas, so what!"

"I've been getting worse." Steve thumped his chest with his fist. "The lungs, the heart, the headaches..."

"You never told us about any headaches."

"There's nothing to do about any of it, Tony. I saw the doc. He said... well, he didn't come right out and say it, but... you know." Steve smiled, tentatively. "I got no kick coming. I've been happy, especially with you. I just... I want to go out being useful, saving someone even if it's only by standing between them and a bullet. That's what I want, not lying in the charity ward, waiting for it."

Tony swallowed hard. His throat hurt. "There's better doctors."

"I'd need a whole new body." Steve held out his hand again, and this time Tony took it, moving to hug Steve hard.

"It's not fair, Steve." Tony blinked, because his eyes were hot. "Not fair at all."

 

By mutual unspoken agreement, the subject was dropped, but Tony made more of an effort to be on time. He didn't want to waste any of Steve's remaining hours standing around waiting for him. So they were first in line to see Disney's Fantasia on the thirteenth. "That," Tony said as they left the movie theater, "is going to bomb."

"It was beautiful! The music and the art were wonderful," Steve protested.

"Too highbrow. And where's the boy meets girl?" Tony nudged Steve. "Although, I think the alligator had a crush on the hippo."

"You mean he got crushed by the hippo."

Tony laughed. "Same difference."

 

The night of the fourteenth, the Germans bombed Coventry, England. Tony and Steve listened to the radio, and later, they went over the newspaper reports in silence. Steve lingered over the photos of the bombed out Cathedral of St. Michael. A stonemason had found two charred beams lying in the shape of a cross and bound them together. Steve nodded. "I don't care what Hitler throws at them, England's not giving up."

On the fifteenth Steve was sulky because he'd read that 75,000 men had been called to armed forces duty, the first call up during peacetime. Tony dragged him away from the sidewalk where Steve watched with envy as men lined up outside the local draft board to be examined. "Come on," Tony said, excited. "They're gonna open the Queens-Midtown Tunnel today! I want to go to the dedication ceremony!"

"I thought you didn't like listening to speeches," Steve said, but he allowed Tony to tug him along to the nearest bus stop.

"They'll be talking about engineering! Do you know how amazing the tunnel is?"

"They dug a hole and paved it in cement?" Steve said, with an innocent look.

Tony waved his hands. "That's, that's... that's not engineering!" Tony barely interrupted his explanation of core samples, cutting shields, gradients, and ventilation buildings to climb aboard the bus and pay their fares. He sat down and looked at Steve's amused expression. "You're laughing at me."

"Nah. I just like to see you get all wound up. It's fun."

Tony huffed, but in a few minutes relented and continued telling Steve how wonderful the tunnel was. 

 

Tony's eyes did glaze over a little during the dedication speech.

"The Queens-Midtown Tunnel is designed to take its place in the New York of tomorrow. To get a clear picture of this miracle of engineering skill it is perhaps necessary to compare it with its older sister to the west, the Holland Tunnel connecting Manhattan with New Jersey. This early tunnel taught engineers many lessons that were put to good use in the new construction. It took seven years to complete the Holland Tunnel, and only four years to complete the Queens-Midtown Tunnel. Time has been saved, and money has been saved. New York can be proud of her new tunnel, and proud, too, of the ingenuity, skill and vision that made it possible."

But he perked up when President Roosevelt was the first to drive through the tunnel. It was only right, since Roosevelt had lifted the first shovel full of dirt to begin the construction in 1936. After getting a membership card from Local 184 of the International Brotherhood of Engineers and Shovel Runners, of course. It never paid to upset the unions. "He looks good," Tony said to Steve quietly.

Steve nodded. "Yeah. The President is strong. So is America." He sounded wistful.

Tony patted Steve on the arm. "You'll get your chance Steve. Somehow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7th - Tacoma Narrows (Galloping Gertie) Bridge collapses, Washington [ archive footage of the collapse ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5QNV3So7GM). Official Tacoma Bridge site [ here.](http://www.wsdot.wa.gov/TNBhistory/Connections/connections3.htm) Even before completion the 'vertical bounce' was considered a 'structural instability'. The designer admitted that 3 of his bridges did the same thing, on a much smaller scale. They tried to stabilize it with hydraulic jacks and tie-down cables. A professor of engineering did wind tunnel studies; under certain conditions the bridge model _twisted_ which would destroy the real bridge. He completed the studies on Nov. 2 saying the solid girders needed either to have holes cut to let the wind pass through, or deflect the wind by covering the girder with curved steel fairings. Five days after getting the report the lead project engineer on the bridge had met with the professor and one of the Public Works Administration's engineers and begun designing and pricing materials. It was too late. Around 7:30 a.m. wind gusts started hitting the bridge broadside, directly against the deck's solid plate girder. The bridge began 'galloping' as it often did. The professor came to take motion pictures for his study. At 10:03 the motion changed from a bounce to a twist. Within four minutes the motion became gigantic, tilting up nearly 30 feet on a side, then reversing to do the same on the other. By 11:10 a.m. the bridge's center span was gone into the ocean.
> 
> Because of the Depression it had been impossible to raise funds for the bridge. The Public Works Administration became interested in linking McChord Air Field south of Tacoma and the Puget Sound Navy Shipyard in Bremerton. Local engineers proposed a conventional suspension bridge, estimated cost $11 million. A New York bridge engineer told the PWA it could be done cheaper. The PWA made a grant award of $6.4 million on condition that 'outside consultants' design the bridge. The NY engineer got the job. Washington engineers called the plans "fundamentally unsound." The PWA's own field engineer submitted a report of faults and refused to recommend acceptance when he examined the completed bridge. Two days after the bridge collapse the lead project engineer told the newspapers about being forced to accept flawed plans. The PWA said they knew nothing about that. Two months later their field engineer told the news about his report, and he was fired. Paradoxically, during its brief life, the bridge collected so much in tolls, it would easily have been worth the cost of the safe design initially proposed.  
>   10th - Walt Disney becomes an informer for the L.A. FBI; to report on Hollywood subversives. 14th - German bombers destroy most of Coventry, England, an industrial city with metal-working industries including aeroplane engines and munitions factories. There were 17 small raids between August and October 1940. The raid that began on the evening of 14 November 1940 was far more severe, dropping about 500 tonnes of high explosives carried by 515 German bombers. The first wave bombers dropped high explosive bombs, knocking out the water supply, electricity network, telephones and gas mains and cratering the roads, making it difficult for the fire engines to reach fires started by the later waves of bombers dropping high explosive and incendiary bombs. 
> 
> Coventry Cathedral was burned down. More than 200 other fires were started across the city, overwhelming the fire-fighters. Around two-thirds of the city's buildings were damaged. An estimated 568 people were killed with another 863 badly injured and 393 sustaining lesser injuries. Casualties were limited because a large number of Coventrians "trekked" out of the city at night to sleep in nearby towns following the earlier air raids. People who took to air raid shelters were generally safe. Out of 79 public air raid shelters holding 33,000 people, very few had been destroyed.
> 
> Around one third of the city's factories were completely destroyed or severely damaged and another third were badly damaged. The effects on war production were temporary, as much had already been moved to 'shadow factories' on the city outskirts. There were many Shadow Factories (originally most were farmland, one was a carpet factory, one a textile mill, another a coach builder, one was an underground quarry). The government funded new production facilities with grants and loans, in particular Rolls-Royce, whose Merlin engine powered many of the aircraft being developed by the Air Ministry. Other areas had their own shadow factories, mainly for military and agricultural vehicles and munitions. One company alone controlled 67 factories which produced more than half the small arms supplied to Britain's forces during the war.
> 
> 15th- http://www.nycroads.com/crossings/queens-midtown  
>  20th - Hungary, Romania and Slovakia join the Axis Powers. 


	17. Scales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a couple months to get data from my dead computer & by then I'd lost writing momentum, and it's been a long fight to get back to Hooked. So we're now up to December, 1940. I don't normally solicit comments, but perhaps right now it would be helpful to get my muse in gear. My Steve is scheduled for Supersizing in March 1941, so I just have to get through Jan and Feb for that. And then... well... we'll see. I only know that point wasn't intended as the end of the story.

December didn't start out too great. When Tony entered their rooms, he found Steve scowling over the newspaper, which wasn't unusual. He hung his coat over the nail near the stove, where it would warm up and drip melted snow into the pan on the floor beneath. "I heard the Greeks are pushing the Italians back," he said, hoping the good news would cheer Steve.

"Uh huh." Steve folded the paper carefully before ripping it into neat strips.

"Um, Steve? What are you doing?"

"Making toilet paper."

Tony frowned. "We have toilet paper. Good stuff, too. Splinter-free. 'Scot Tissue, soft as old linen' according to the ads."

"Uh huh." Steve stacked the paper strips. 

"I might have wanted to read it."

"I'll tell you what it said. President Roosevelt asked Joe Kennedy to resign his post as Ambassador to the United Kingdom. Mr. Kennedy told the Boston Sunday Globe that 'Democracy is finished in England. It may be here.' What kind of Irish American says a thing like that!"

Tony blinked and sat down across from Steve. "I guess one who doesn't worry about his political career."

"He's got sons of an age to be fighting in the war." Steve shook his head. "I suppose he could be scared to lose them, but it's still not right, defeatist talk like that." He rubbed his hands together. Tony didn't like the color of them. Everyone was pale in the winter, but Steve had picked up a bluish tinge that didn't go away. He seldom complained, but Tony knew he was cold a lot of the time.

Tony picked up the pieces of newspaper and shoved them into the stove on top of the coals. "If they want to get into politics they'd better be war heroes, then." He added more coal to the fire.

 

The war kept spreading. And Steve kept getting 'little aches, nothing to worry about'. Tony caught a cold himself, and spent two weeks with toilet paper wrapped around his face in lieu of a hospital mask. Steve laughed at him, but it wasn't a joke to Tony. 

"I promised Bucky I wouldn't get you sick, remember?" Tony said, only slightly muffled by Soft-Weve as he concentrated on the saucepan on the stove. His friend the butcher had kindly saved some chicken livers for Steve because they were full of vitamins, but they sure did smell. "You wouldn't make a liar of me."

"No, Tony," Steve said, a fond look in his eyes. 

"And you'll eat this when it's done."

Steve sighed. "Yes, Tony." He rolled his eyes and resumed sketching. "Hold your arms up. Pretend you're holding um... a sack of flour above your head."

Tony obeyed. Then he asked, "Why?"

"Need the pose."

Steve finished the sketch and laid it aside when Tony brought over the mashed chicken liver spread on a bagel half. "Thanks." Steve munched gamely on the food. He'd been having trouble swallowing lately.

Tony took advantage of Steve's distraction to look at the sketch. "Hey, that's a woman, not me. And she's holding a baby?"

Steve grinned. "Thought it might do for a health campaign poster. Or maybe I could sell the idea to Scot. For germophobe mothers."

"I am not a germophobe. Some of my best friends are germs." Tony sat next to Steve and leaned against him, offering his body heat. Steve put an arm around him while he ate.

 

There was fighting in Egypt with combined British and Indian Forces pushing the Italians out of Egypt and into Libya. Tony had never even heard of Libya before the war. He wondered what anyone wanted in that part of the world and felt worth dying over. Maybe just because it wasn't their home countries. Tony could understand that. He'd rather the US took the war to Europe or Asia or Africa, or heck, even the North Pole, rather than bring it home. Steve was right, you couldn't just sit by and wait for it to come to you.

 

Franco said Spain wouldn't enter the war. That was something, not that anyone trusted Franco, but these days even a delay was a reprieve, letting the British and their allies concentrate their forces. Steve talked about military strategy sometimes. Tony wasn't really interested, but getting enthusiastic while teaching Tony put a little color in Steve's cheeks, so they'd pour over maps and move pins and talk about logistics on days when the weather was so miserable that street-walking was a waste of time anyway.

 

"Look, it's Christmas, and we're going out," Tony said on the twenty-fifth, while tossing Steve's overcoat at him. "I've got tickets to a play, opening night, a new Rodgers and Harts show. Should be good."

"All right," Steve said agreeably. He put on the coat and wrapped a muffler around his neck. 

Tony didn't like it when Steve didn't put up a fuss; it felt as if Steve didn't have the energy to fight. He moved close to Steve and brushed the back of his hand against Steve's cheek. "Do you feel up to it? I mean, I have the tickets, but I could sell them."

"I'm fine. You're right, we've been sitting here all gloom and doom and we should be going out and having a little fun." Steve kissed Tony lightly. "Make some nice memories, you know?"

"Don't get all morbid on me." Tony pulled Steve close by his muffler and kissed him harder. "We're _both_ going to remember this night."

Steve smiled. "That's what I meant." He pulled his gloves out of his coat pocket and put them on. "What's the name of the show?"

"Pal Joey."

 

"Now, that was a great show," Tony said as they left the theater. 

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "I liked Joey even though he was a heel."

"Aw, Joey wasn't a bad guy," Tony said. "He just had too much imagination to behave himself. I know how that goes." Suddenly he spread his arms and grinned wickedly. This was one time he could get away with public affection, since everyone leaving the theater was humming snatches of song and trying out dance steps. Musicals do that to people. "I have the worst apprehension," he sang, "That you don't crave my attention." He danced a few steps around Steve. Not as good as that fella on stage, what was his name, oh, yeah, Gene Kelly, but not bad. "But I can't force you to change your taste." He made an exaggerated wistful face.

Steve laughed. His cheeks were rosy with laughter from the show and the warmth of the crowded theater. Tony loved to see him like this. Steve opened his arms and sang the refrain back, "If you don't care to be nice, dear, Then give me air, but not ice, dear. Don't let a good fellow go to waste. For this little sin that you commit at leisure, You'll repent in haste."

Tony grinned and added," If my heart gets in your hair, You mustn't kick it around. If you're bored with this affair, You mustn't kick it around."

"Even though I'm mild and meek, When we have a brawl, " Steve sang and Tony laughed at the idea of Steve being mild and meek. Steve smirked and continued," If I turn the other cheek You mustn't kick it at all."

Tony linked arms with Steve as they walked towards the subway stop. They sang together, "When I try to ring the bell, You never care for the sound. The next guy may not do as well, You mustn't kick it around."

 

Four days later Germany dropped so many incendiary bombs on London that Londoners called it the Second Great Fire of London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joe Kennedy Jr. died in WWII, but Lieutenant John Fitzgerald Kennedy, later President Kennedy, received the Navy's highest honor for gallantry for his heroic actions as a gunboat pilot during World War II. He wrote a book, 'PT-109' about the experience.
> 
> Protect your baby from a war-caused shortage of nurses and doctors by wearing a mask made from two layers of toilet paper.  
> http://pabook.libraries.psu.edu/palitmap/TP1945Ad.jpg
> 
> 6-9: British and Indian troops of the Western Desert Force launch Operation Compass, an offensive against Italian forces in Egypt. The Italians have seven infantry divisions and the Maletti Group in fortified defensive positions. Initial attacks are launched against the five Italian camps around and south of Sidi Barrani. The camps are overrun, Italian General Pietro Maletti is killed, and the Maletti Group, the 1st Libyan Division, the 2nd Libyan Division, and the 4th Blackshirt Division are all but destroyed. The remaining Italian units in Egypt are forced to withdraw towards Libya. 
> 
> 8: Francisco Franco rules out Spanish entry into the war; the immediate result is that Hitler is forced to cancel an attack on Gibraltar.
> 
> 9th - 12th British assault on Libya: 1st major offensive in North Africa, they conquer Sidi el-Barrani and over 39,000 Italians are lost or captured in Egypt. by the 16th the British are in command at Sollum in Egypt and take Fort Capuzzo in Libya.
> 
> 25th - Richard Rodgers & Lorenz Harts "Pal Joey" premieres in NYC
> 
> 29: (from Wikipedia) Between 6 pm and the early hours of the morning of the 30th, more than 24,000 high explosive bombs and 100,000 incendiary bombs were dropped on London. The area destroyed was greater than that of the Great Fire of London in 1666. The raid was timed to coincide with a particularly low tide on the River Thames, making water difficult to obtain for fire fighting. Over 1500 fires were started, with many joining up to form three major conflagrations which in turn caused a firestorm that spread the flames further, towards St Paul's Cathedral.
> 
> Prime Minister Winston Churchill urged that the Cathedral be saved at all costs. It was saved only by the dedication of the London firemen who kept the fire that was raging in St Paul's Churchyard away from the Cathedral, and of the volunteer firewatchers of the St Paul's Watch who fought to put out the incendiaries or firebombs on its roof.
> 
> More than 160 civilians died during that night, with many more dying of their injuries sustained in this raid in the days that followed; 14 firemen died fighting the fires and 250 were injured. Buildings completely destroyed in the fire storm included 19 churches, 31 guild halls and all of Paternoster Row. Paternoster Row was the centre of the London publishing trade and an estimated 5 million books were lost in the fire.


	18. Carping

"Do you want to go out tonight?" Steve asked on New Year's Eve.

"Nah. We've got everything we need here." Tony produced a bottle of sparkling wine from his overcoat pocket. It hadn't been bottled in France, but it had gold lettering which made it fancy enough for Tony. "I got a couple tin rattles from a street hawker, too."

"I'll get the glasses." Steve got up from the table, where he'd been sorting out rough sketches. He returned with the glasses and picked up his sketch block. "This one might do for the WPA," he said, pointing to the top sketch.

Tony glanced at the drawing and coughed. Steve had sketched him jerking off. It was a beautifully spare rendition of his hands, all light and shadow, around his cock. "I don't know, Steve. I mean... I know there's a lot of anti-Syphilis posters, but they don't want anything that... that... real."

Steve laughed. "No, no I'm thinking for the work safety line. You know, just... move the hands further apart and put them on a metal rod with the text 'Protect your hands, you work with them'."

"Oh, you have GOT to submit that." Tony opened the wine carefully, to keep it from splashing out and being wasted. He took off the watch Bucky had given him and propped it up where they could both see it before he poured the wine. They sat and talked while the evening wore on, sipping the wine and holding hands.

"The President is still saying we're not going to send an expeditionary force beyond our borders," Steve said after his second glass. Or maybe his third. Tony wasn't paying attention. He was looking at Steve's face, yellow in the light of the single bulb dangling from the ceiling, and wondering if they'd have another year, even if the war stayed away.

"Umm, what? I don't know." Tony scratched at his head as he belatedly processed Steve's words. "I got the feeling he was being very careful not to rule it out. You know, 'there's no demand for it', 'no intention', 'not directed'. Sounds like he's saying right now it's not going to happen, but we should be ready for that to change. You know, he's pushing awfully hard for industry to gear up even more for defense."

"Wish I could do something useful," Steve said wistfully. "Work a lathe or rivet gun, something."

"Yeah, I know." Tony sighed. "I wish I could, too. I mean, I could do it, but there's no factory that'd hire me. They look into your background now."

"Could ask Mrs. O'Shaughnessy to write you a reference. She promised, you know."

Tony poured more wine, and checked the time. "Maybe I will." He smiled at Steve. "Wouldn't make as much money, though. How would I keep us in the style to which we've become accustomed?"

Steve chuckled and tapped his glass against Tony's. "You're smart. You'd figure something out." And then he leaned forward across his mother's pretty little table. "Happy New Year, Tony," he said softly and kissed Tony just as noisemakers and yells came from all over the building and even out in the street.

They never did remember to twirl the tin rattlers.

 

The next day, Steve shook his head and tossed a newspaper down on the table. "We should buy some fish. Or a canary."

"What?" Tony looked up from stirring the Rag soup (he'd got the recipe from a neighbor- spinach, broth and lots of macaroni). "You want fish for dinner? But who'd eat a canary?"

"No, I mean, that's all this is fit for. To wrap up fish or put at the bottom of a bird cage." Steve picked up the newspaper to show Tony the bold cartoon splashed across the top center of the page. Roosevelt was striding to the right, chin up and holding a flag bearing the words 'Britain Must Win', while a crowd of people was just as determinedly striding in the opposite direction, with a sign reading 'A poll taken west of the Hudson would show that not all are marching in his direction.' There was also a wispy female figure, apparently kicked out of the way by Roosevelt, bearing a banner reading 'A Negotiated Peace'.

"Oh, well, the Chicago Daily Tribune," Tony said. "What can you expect from them?"

"A newspaper's supposed to be fair and balanced."

Tony blinked. "Really? I thought a newspaper was supposed to sell papers. And ads. And print whatever they think the readers want to see." Tony flipped through the paper. He read fast. "Yeah, I see what you mean. Roosevelt is sneaky and untrustworthy, the pro-war groups are traitors, Americans are the only people who know how to be peaceful, we should be worried about the economy and fighting the depression instead, the Germans are only behaving badly because the treaty of Versailles was so punitive, and the US should make alliance with Germany and ask them to promise to be nice if they get back everything they lost in that treaty, because of COURSE they'd listen to us." He snorted and turned back to the first page. "Oh, here's an interesting article. Boy stabs himself in the heart with scissors. His father ran the kid to the nearby hospital where they lifted his heart out, sewed it up, put it back and gave him a transfusion from his father. Now, that's news. The rest of this... it'd probably poison the canary."

"How can anyone believe this? I lost count of how many treaties and pacts they broke, and what they're doing to people... just... their own people, even." Steve crumpled up the newspaper. "How can anyone believe this garbage?"

"Because they're afraid and they want to believe it." Tony sniffed. "Oh, hey, the soup!" He turned back to the stove and stirred like mad. "Look, Steve, they can ignore it all they like, but sooner or later the pot's going to boil over and we'll be... in the soup?"

Steve smiled faintly. "Yeah, I know. It's just..." Steve sat down. "It's just. Tony, we can't sit by and do nothing."

"I know."

 

Steve stayed glum all day, and by the third, Tony had had enough. "Put your coat on. We're going to the Apollo. Count Basie is back." When Steve hesitated, Tony added, "Some of Rhodey's friends should be there. I want to ask them if they have any news to pass on to him."

"Yeah, all right. Rhodey's gonna be fighting. He should have all the support we can give him. I'm sorry I didn't go with you to see him off. He's a good man."

"The best. After the war, when we get our plane, you should come with us." At Steve's bemused expression, Tony added, "Ok, you don't have to do any wing walking, but you can draw posters! We'd put them up and get lots more customers."

"Sure, Tony. After the war."

 

Tony almost wished Steve would stop reading the newspapers. The US was still sending arms and supplies to Britain, and starting to make airbases in Canada, Bermuda and the West Indies. In the Pacific, America was slowly building bases on strategic islands, including Midway Island, trying to establish a line of support positions to the Philippines. But it was all slow, and 'start' and 'try'. The good news was that the Italian ground forces were being pushed back by the Greeks into Albania, and by the British into Libya and Ethiopia, but the air battle wasn't going so well.

The Germans sent air support to their Italian allies, moving men and supplies, and coordinating raids with the Italian air force. British shipping was under heavy attack and the combined Italian and German air force were taking a toll of the British Mediterranean Fleet. It wasn't spelled out in detail, of course. But there was far more information than Steve needed to see that the situation in Europe was wearing down the Allies. The Free French and the Free Polish were trying to organize, but there was only so much determination could do with limited resources.

Bucky sent postcards from time to time. He kept getting moved from training camp to training camp, and of course he wasn't supposed to say anything military, so the postcards were all silly things like how much his 'roommates' snored, and how he learned to wear several pairs of socks to keep out the mud. 

Steve didn't say much when the cards came, but Tony could see how proud he was of Bucky. Sometimes Tony felt glad to have Steve to himself, but at the same time he missed Bucky. Tony had never had enough friends that he could afford to lose one. Even if he was also proud of Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Dec 29, 1940 Roosevelt gave a 'fireside chat' speech to the nation. The text is [ here.](http://docs.fdrlibrary.marist.edu/122940.html)
> 
>  
> 
> [Protect your hands, you work with them](http://www.freevintageposters.com/2012/12/protect-your-hands-you-work-with-them.html)
> 
>  
> 
> [ Chicago Tribune, Dec. 31, 1940](http://archives.chicagotribune.com/1940/12/31/page/2/article/nazis-cast-veil-of-silence-over-roosevelt-talk)
> 
>  
> 
> Friday Jan 3, 1941 Count Basie and his Orchestra play from the 3rd to the 9th at the Apollo in New York City.
> 
> [ World War II Sea War, Volume 3: The Royal Navy is Bloodied in the Mediterranean](https://books.google.com/books?id=tdbEAwAAQBAJ&pg=PA177&lpg=PA175#v=onepage&q&f=falseThis) A google book- way too much to retype. Here's some of it.
> 
> British convoy losses were less than 1 percent of all shipping, but it was affecting public morale. It seemed that several ships were lost each day. The successful British ground offensive in Libya helped morale. Good sea & air support, unexpected tactics & movements helped them defeat a much larger Italian force. The ground offensive in Italian East Africa was also showing early signs of success- the British supplied arms to the Abyssinians who had been defeated by the Italians a few years earlier- their uprising quickly undermined the Italian hold on the area.
> 
> The Chinese continued to fight on stubbornly in the mountains, reducing Japans superiority in mobility and strong artillery.
> 
> Free Polish soldiers, sailors and airmen continued to build up in Britain and the Empire. They were ready, willing and able to conduct military operations wherever they were sent. As supplies became available, several brigade units formed in Palestine.
> 
> The Free French were slowly building strength and looking for ways to prove their value to future British operations. The successful occupation of several French colonies helped build an infrastructure and generate funds to run the government in exile. The harsh German treatment in occupied France was beginning to generate recruits as well.


	19. Sounds Fishy

The weather hadn't been kind to Steve, and he finally gave up his newspaper route entirely. He drew feverishly, and while the WPA still refused to give him official jobs, other artists were willing to pay for his sketches and use them for the basis of their WPA posters. It wasn't much money, so Tony took chances, staying out late, ranging to the edge of other hooker's territories, and wasn't fussy about his customers. Steve didn't like it, but they had bills. Getting thrown out in the snow would have killed him for sure.

"Hey, Steve." Tony put his overcoat on the rack and stretched. It had mostly been hand jobs in warm corners, and he'd finally broken down and rented a fifty cent an hour room. It was so cold only the crazies wanted to unzip enough for even a blow job. The room had led to bigger pay-offs, so it worked out to a net profit after all.

"Hey, Tony," Steve said absentmindedly. He turned the radio knob, tuning away from the news to a music station. 

"What? No news?" Tony pulled a waxed paper packet out of his coat. "I stopped by Frankie and Johnnie's. Got you a sardine sandwich. Fish is brain food."

"You're eating half of it," Steve said. "Your brain needs food, too."

"Fine, fine." Tony put another scoop of coal in the stove and poked at the embers. "All right, what's on the news that's so terrible you don't want me to hear it?" Tony had been busy, but he's pretty sure he would have noticed if they declared war. 

"Nothing. It's good. All week the British have been doing well in Libya, and today the House of Representatives passed the Lend-Lease Bill. The President is confident that the Senate will approve it."

"So? You were all for that. The US gives the allies weapons and ships while still maintaining neutrality, to keep the isolationists from screaming." Tony put the unwrapped sardine sandwich on a plate and cut it in half, meticulously even so Steve couldn't try to give him the larger half on the 'growing boy' theory. Tony wasn't a kid. He'd be eighteen in four months even if he didn't look like it.

"Tony." Steve looked at Tony as if he was being dim. "If you were a bully, beating up people, and someone handed your victim a gun, would you think they were neutral?"

"Oh. Yeah. I see what you mean. Well, it doesn't really make any difference. If Hitler and his buddies could attack the US, they would. And if we _don't_ send supplies to the allied forces, when the Axis powers finish with them, they'd be able to turn all their force against us. Hitler is crazy enough to want to own the whole world." Tony pushed the plate to Steve. "The President is building up our forces. We'll be ready for them."

"I hope so." Steve picked up his half of sandwich. "Bucky... all the soldiers... they should have everything they need."

 

The next day Churchill gave a speech. Tony had to admit he loved listening to Churchill. The man looked like a bulldog, but boy, could he line words up and shoot them to the heart. He sat with Steve and listened as Churchill spoke of the British spirit and praised everyone for their efforts, how he pointed out all the positives, from the lack of serious epidemic, and less crime than in years of peace, to the success in Egypt and Libya, and the lengthening daylight giving the advantage to the Royal Air Force which he stated as 'master of the daylight air'. Then he went on to extoll the virtues of the Greeks.

_'spurred on by lust of power and brutish greed, Mussolini attacked and invaded Greece, only to be hurled back ignominiously by the heroic Greek Army; who, I will say, with your consent, have revived before our eyes the glories which, from the classic age, gild their native land.'_

"The man can talk," Tony murmured.

"Shush," Steve said. He was leaning towards the radio, both arms on the table, face set with a fierce yearning expression.

So Tony didn't comment when Churchill praised _'all our leaders, and all their lithe, active, ardent men, British, Australian, Indian, in the Imperial Army'_ but he made a mental note of it. He liked the sound of it. The talk of countries and politics was less interesting to him. He was frankly dozing when Churchill summed up with _'Give us the tools, and we shall finish the job.'_

The radio clicked off and Tony looked up. "Tools?"

"Churchill promised Roosevelt that if we give Britain the aid, they'll win the war. He sounds like a hell of a fella, that Churchill. I'm glad we're on his side." Steve stood up. "Come to bed, Tony, you've been working too hard."

Tony grunted and got up. He put his arms around Steve and just hung on for a moment. "Give me the tools and I will finish the job." He made a clumsy effort to pat Steve's crotch.

Steve made a noise that definitely wasn't a "Yes, you're so sexy, Tony" but was more along the lines of "You're ridiculous, but I love you anyway."

"Fine." Tony let Steve guide him to the bed. "It's the accent, isn't it? I need a British accent."

"Uh huh," Steve said agreeably as he untied Tony's shoes and took them off.

"Or French? I know a few words in French." Tony yawned, and sleepily tried to cooperate as Steve stripped him. "Boudoir! Negligee! Um... liaison, lingerie!"

"You have an amazing vocabulary," Steve said as he removed his own clothes and got under the covers with Tony.

"I'll learn French. How hard could it be?" Tony turned to put his arms around Steve. "I'd do anything for you."

"I know." Steve stroked Tony's arm. "Go to sleep."

"Hmm." Tony cuddled close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February 1: To protect merchant ships in the Atlantic, the U.S. Navy creates the Atlantic Fleet, with Rear Admiral Ernest J. King commanding.
> 
> February 3: Lt-General Erwin Rommel is appointed head of the Afrika Korps, the German Army troops in Africa. On the 14th the Afrika Korps arrives in Tripoli.
> 
> February 8: [ brief explanation of Lend-Lease](http://www.u-s-history.com/pages/h1600.html) [a slightly more detailed explanation](http://militaryhistory.about.com/od/industrialmobilization/p/lend-lease-act.htm)  
> The Lend-Lease Bill passed the House of Representatives on Feb. 8. It passed the Senate on March 8. The Lend-Lease Act said that the president could sell/exchange/lease, etc. any defense article to any country whose defense the President deems vital to U.S. defense. President Franklin D. Roosevelt compared it to loaning a hose to a neighbor whose home was on fire. You don't ask to be paid for the hose, just return it when the fire is out. The expenditure grew to $50 billion by 1945 with the majority going to Britain, then successively smaller amounts to Russia, France and China. Each of those nations was assumed to be fighting not only in its own defense, but in that of the United States as well. Shipping war equipment and supplies to Britain, without payback as stipulated by the 1939 Neutrality Act, Lend-Lease aided the British to resist the Germans until Pearl Harbor brought America actively in the war. (The law also provided for "reverse lend-lease," which accounted for $17 billion worth of matériel later required by American soldiers overseas.) At the end of the war, Britain needed to keep much of the stuff, so a new bill allowed for gradual repayment, of about 10 cents on the dollar. The last payment was made in 2006.
> 
> Feb. 9: [ Complete text of Churchill's 'Give Us the Tools' speech.](http://www.winstonchurchill.org/resources/speeches/1941-1945-war-leader/give-us-the-tools) It's a wonderful speech, I hope everyone reads it.
> 
> Feb. 9-26 The Nazis persecution of Jews in occupied Amsterdam is resisted by both Jews and non-Jews, but the resistance is smashed brutally, including arresting at random and deporting to concentration camps 429 young Jews in retaliation for some Jews successfully beating back (armed with nothing more than chains and sticks) a Nazi police raid. 
> 
> Feb 20th - Romania breaks relations with Netherlands
> 
> Feb 23rd - Plutonium is produced and isolated by Dr. Glenn T. Seaborg.
> 
> Feb. 27: FDR talked about national defense and the role of the American motion picture in promoting solidarity among all the peoples of the Americas at a speech he gave to the 13th Academy awards. He praised them for the service newsreels had performed in acquainting the American public with the implications of the Lend-Lease Bill.
> 
> Movie clip includes a few short bits of the speech, and a much longer film of a horse race, and brief scenes of the British forces routing the Italians in Libya and then scenes of the captured Italian soldiers being sent to internment camps. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z3YJvSVaBNY


	20. Green Around the Gills

Tony returned home a little earlier than usual, because his friend the butcher had given him a pound of chicken liver, which even in winter wasn't the sort of thing you carried around with you while working the streets. The door was locked, and Steve wasn't sitting by the window, sketching. "Steve?" Tony looked in their only other room, worried that Steve had taken ill and gone to bed in the middle of the day. Steve wasn't there, either. Tony thought for a moment that perhaps he'd gone to the WC on their floor, but then he noticed that Steve's hat and overcoat were gone. Tony dropped the packet of meat on the table and looked around, hoping Steve had left a note, but there wasn't anything.

Steve was a grown man. He could take care of himself. Sure. Tony got a pot, filled it with water, raked up the coals in the stove and put the liver on to cook. Steve probably was feeling better and went to sit in the sunshine, what there was of it, somewhere. Or maybe he got bored and went to play chess with one of the old people in the building. It wasn't that warm inside, he could have worn his coat if he was going to be sitting in a draught. Tony poked at the liver with a fork.

He might have gone to the bakery or the delicatessen. He used to like to surprise Tony with a sweet roll or ... but he hadn't done that in weeks, not since he'd been coughing so much and breathing chill air was likely to set him off.

Tony wanted to go out and look for Steve, but he was afraid he'd miss him in passing, and then Steve might come home while he was searching, get worried and go looking for Tony. That was the sort of stupidity that led to funny scenes in plays, but weren't at all fun in reality.

The liver was almost done when Tony heard the key scrape in the lock and he turned in relief. "Steve...." Tony stopped talking when he caught sight of Steve's face. His normally pale complexion was chalky. Tony dropped the fork into the pot with a splash and ran to grab Steve around the waist. "I'll get a doctor." He pulled Steve over to the bed, ignoring Steve's ineffectual resistance.

"I..." Steve coughed. "I already saw a doctor. I'm fine." He waved his hands, but didn't really protest as Tony settled him on the bed, overcoat and all.

"Fine? Sure, sure, you're fine. I'll... I'll make you some coffee. You'll be fine." Tony couldn't remember ever seeing Steve this bad. "What doctor? You had to go out and see a doctor? What's wrong?" Tony sat next to Steve and picked up his right hand, rubbing it between his own, trying to bring warmth to the chilled, rubbery flesh.

"I've been..." Steve bit at his lips, and then sighed. "I've been going out and trying to enlist. When you're not here."

"Steve, no."

"I had to, Tony. I don't have a lot of time left, and I have to at least try. I can't just give up."

That silenced Tony. He picked up Steve's hand and pressed the cold fingers to his lips. After a moment he said, "At least, let me go with you."

"All right." Steve smiled. "I've already tried in Brooklyn, Bridgeton, Red Bank and New Haven. I'm thinking Paramus is next."

"Paramus? New Jersey? God, Steve, the things you make me do." He kissed Steve's hand. "I'm cooking some lovely chicken livers for you. You eat them, get some color in your cheeks, and tomorrow we'll go." 

 

"That was the longest hour of my life," Tony said the next day, as he descended from the rattletrap bus ahead of Steve, letting Steve hold onto his shoulder in unobtrusive support. "But, oh, how it's worth it," he said once they were on the ground. He turned around. "They don't even have a town center." He peered at a distant sign and read aloud, "Population---less than four thousand? Steve, I bet the mayor knows the name of every _dog_ in this community."

"Good thing the mayor won't be at the induction center, then, isn't it?" Steve went to the bus bench and sat down. "Why'n't you go find out where it is? I want to do a little sketching." Steve pulled out his small sketch pad from his coat, and began blocking in the shape of a sundries store.

The ride had been hard on Steve, but of course he wouldn't say that he needed to rest. "Yeah, ok. I'll be right back." Tony headed towards a service station, where a ramshackle 3/4 ton Ford truck was being prodded by a guy in greasy overalls. It took a couple of minutes, and Tony got his hands dirty fixing the clutch, before the man unbent enough to talk. He gave Tony directions, and a quarter. Cheapskate.

 

Steve brushed himself up and stood straight, finishing off an Asthmador cigarette, and slapping his cheeks before he approached the building. The induction center was a vacant store, with shelves and fading signs extolling the merits of various shoes gathering dust on the walls. There were a few backless benches, and a desk with a rusty metal file cabinet next to it. The elderly man seated behind the desk looked up. "Here to enlist?"

"I am sir," Steve said. "My friend's too young," he added before Tony could say anything. Not that Tony was going to enlist. He wouldn't leave Steve alone. And there was no way Steve was getting past this sharp-eyed old man.

"Right, well, fill out this form. I'll call the doc, for your examination." The old man left the room and went out into the street.

Tony sat next to Steve and leaned over his shoulder to watch Steve wrestle with his conscience, before filling it out mostly honestly. He put in everything any competent doctor would see at a glance. Tony pointed out the 'exposure to TB' line and Steve scowled but he didn't say anything as he ticked 'yes'. That alone would disqualify him. No one knew how TB spread, so the army wasn't taking chances on bringing carriers into close quarters. They'd learned that much from the influenza epidemic of 1918. They lost more men from that than from the war. 

The door opened, and two men entered. The first man returned to his desk, and busied himself with papers. The second man was slightly younger, but still far beyond enlistment age. He had scruffy white hair, a fuzzy salt and pepper beard, and very kind eyes behind gold wire rim glasses. Tony felt better on seeing him, at least the man looked as if he would be gentle when he turned Steve down. "I am Dr. Erskine," he said. "Have you completed the form, young man?"

"Yes, sir." Steve swallowed so loud Tony could hear it. He handed the clipboard to the doctor.

The doctor's eyes went over the information swiftly. He raised his gaze to meet Steve's eyes. "You must wish very much to kill Nazis, Mr. Rogers."

"No, sir. I just don't like bullies. Please, sir. Perhaps... I could take a desk job, free someone more fit for the line," Steve said, desperately. Tony had heard that argument before, and doubted it would work any better on the doctor than it had on him.

"I'm sorry," Erskine said softly. "Truly I am." He reached out to pat Steve on the shoulder, and Steve crumpled, as if the only thing that had been keeping him upright was pure determination, and this last refusal had taken it away.

"STEVE!" Tony grabbed him and eased him down to the floor. Erskine knelt beside them, producing a stethoscope from his pocket. He opened Steve's shirt and listened to his heart before sitting back on his heels with a blank look on his face.

Steve caught his breath and nodded at the doctor. "I know. I just..." He blinked back a sheen of moisture. "I just don't want to go uselessly. You know? I'm not afraid to die. Been expecting it at any minute all my life. I just... want to save someone else, make my life mean something. Please."

Erskine picked up the clipboard. "There is... there is perhaps something." He looked at the man who had risen from the desk to look at them. "Mr. Matthews, I should like privacy for my patient."

"Of course." Matthews picked up his hat and left the shop, closing the door behind him.

Erskine glanced at Tony, but didn't ask him to leave. "There is an experimental procedure. It might make you healthy enough to serve. It might kill you. It might do worse than kill you."

Tony took a breath to shout 'No', but Steve's hand gripped him tightly.

"My mother was a nurse. She said doctors learned more from their failures than their successes. I want this, Doctor Erskine. I want to do this."

"Steve, no!" Tony couldn't help it. "You're not a lab rat."

"No," Erskine said. "Your friend is a good man, and a hero."

Steve turned to Tony. "I want this, Tony."

Steve was dying. Tony hadn't really accepted it, but he knew it now. This was one last thing he could do. Let Steve have this without regret. He swallowed hard. "All... All right. Just... I want to be there."

"I don't know," Erskine said. "This is a government project. Only those who are involved can attend."

"I already know too much to let me go," Tony said shrewdly. "Better I should be under your eyes, right? And I can help. There's always scut work. I'm not proud. I'll do anything. Just let me stay with Steve."

Erskine looked down at their entwined hands, and nodded. "Yes. I see." He stood up. "I will push the paperwork through."

"One thing," Tony asked. "Will we have to stay in Paramus?" 

Eskine laughed. "No, I have a place in Queens. I only came here for the privacy. And there is a man who had a bottle of schnapps from my home city." He brushed at his knees. "I have a car. Do you need a ride?"

"Oh, yes," Tony said before Steve could get all noble and refuse. "Steve, if you make me ride that bus again, I'll never forgive you."

Steve laughed, and let Tony help him to his feet. "All right, all right. Thank you, Doctor. Thank you for everything." Steve's eyes were bright, and Tony couldn't help but be glad that Steve was getting what he wanted. No matter what it would mean for Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve was supposed to get capped up in this chapter, but the set up grew longer than expected, so I'll post this now, and then hopefully get him super-sized in the next chapter.
> 
> From here on events in NYC and the global war are going to be less of a factor. Possibly will be mentioned in the end notes, but I doubt they'll be directly relevant to the story.
> 
>  
> 
> [ Marvel extra prop letter showing the cities where Steve tried to enlist](http://marvel.com/images/gallery/story/20389/images_from_look_inside_captain_americas_cinematic_universe_file#4-949648)
> 
>  
> 
> Summary of some war activity during March 1941 (not bothering with dates this time):
> 
> Hitler orders the expansion of Auschwitz prison camp, to be run by Commandant Rudolf Höss.
> 
> British fight in Norway and Greece, diverting some troops from Libya in order to assist the Greeks against the Germans.
> 
> Prince Regent Paul of Yugoslavia agrees to join the Axis pact. The Yugoslav cabinet resigns in protest against Prince Paul's pact with the Nazis. Street demonstrations occur protesting against Germany. Crown Prince Peter becomes Peter II of Yugoslavia and takes control of Yugoslavia after an army coup overthrows the pro-German government of the Prince Regent. Hitler orders his military leaders to plan for the invasion of Yugoslavia. One result of this decision will be a critical time delay in the invasion of Soviet Union.
> 
> London bombed, with Buckingham Palace hit, other cities hit hard include Portsmouth and Bristol, Glasgow, and shipping along the River Clyde.
> 
> FDR signs the Lend-Lease act, allowing the US to provide supplies to the allies, payment deferred to after the war.
> 
> Italian Spring offensive in Albania called off in less than 2 weeks, with heavy losses and no progress.
> 
> German Panzer tanks arrive in North Africa providing heavy armour for the first major German offensive. Rommel attacks and reoccupies El Agheila, Libya in his first offensive. The British retreat and within three weeks are driven back to Egypt. British forces advancing from the Sudan win the decisive Battle of Keren in Eritrea. The Afrika Korps continues the German offensive in North Africa; Mersa Brega, north of El Agheila, is taken.
> 
> Huge convoy losses in mid-Atlantic. Italian MTMs of the Decima MAS sink the heavy cruiser HMS York (90), a large tanker (the Norwegian Pericles), another tanker and a cargo ship in Suda Bay, Crete. Battle of Cape Matapan: the British navy meets an Italian fleet off southern Greece. The battle continues until the 29th.


	21. Big Fish in a Little Pond

Tony was glad that Dr. Erskine was able to get him a position as lab assistant to Dr. Richards, but he didn't think much of SSR's security protocol. Why, if he hadn't surprised Heinz Kruger into speaking German, they would have never uncovered the spy. Who knows what damage the man could have done? Anyone fanatical enough to take cyanide would stop at nothing.

And Reed Richards was a nut. Absolutely brilliant with gadgets, but Tony had to translate 'human interaction' for him a dozen times a day. And occasionally point out mistakes in his math where Reed had jumped ahead to a conclusion which would have been wonderful, except for failing to take into account the side build-up of energy that would have not only blown all the generators in Queens but pretty much vaporized Steve. 

Not that Reed admitted to anyone that it was Tony who had found the mistake. It was just as well Richards thought it was a lucky guess, though. Tony really didn't need the spotlight. As satisfying as it would be to display his intelligence, it wasn't worth the risk of being kicked out if they wanted to know where he'd been educated. The public library didn't give out diplomas, and while Princeton _did_ , he'd never been enrolled. Who'd believe he'd corrected Einstein's math for years?

 

"You know," Tony said to Steve as he helped Steve take off his robe, "Bucky's gonna kick my ass when he finds out about this." Dr. Erskine and the other assistants were politely pretending not to notice them as they took the final test readings from the machinery that was supposed to cure Steve, if it worked. Richards honestly didn't realize anyone was there. If he ever got married, his wife would probably have to water him and remember to turn him to get sun on equal sides.

"Nah." Steve smiled. He was shivering, but had a bright gleam in his eyes. "Bucky's not gonna rag on you. Much." He reached out and hugged Tony. "Listen. If it doesn't... you know where my ma is?" 

Tony couldn't talk, but he nodded. He'd gone with Steve a few times to lay flowers on his mother's grave.

"Yeah, well. If... well, I asked Dr. Eskine if they could let you... You know. Might not be right away, because..."

"Steve. No. You're not gonna go join your ma. Not until you're an old, old, old man. This is gonna fix you right up."

"Yeah. Sure. But just in case. You promise?"

Tony blinked rapidly. "You know it, Steve. Don't worry. It's gonna be fine."

"Yeah." Steve looked over the green metal thing, like an iron lung, waiting for him. Dr. Erskine smiled at him. "Uh, hey, is it too late to go to the bathroom?" Steve asked, making a feeble joke. He hadn't had anything to eat or drink, not that Tony could figure out why that was necessary. It wasn't like they were gonna put him to sleep and needed to worry about him being sick. Maybe they just figured it would make Steve more comfortable, treating this like an operation.

Tony watched as they locked Steve into the metal compartment, and swung it upright, and then he went over to stand next to Richards, to make sure he didn't get too enthusiastic with the voltage. And then Steve screamed. "Turn it off!" Tony shouted, trying to reach past Richard's freakishly long arms to get to the controls.

"NO! DON'T! Steve yelled. "I CAN DO THIS!"

Tony rushed forward as the procedure finished and the capsule opened. "Steve? Oh, my god." Tony put out his hand tentatively to touch Steve's chest. He could feel the heartbeat below all that impossible muscle. Strong. Steady. And Steve was breathing heavily, but there was no rasp, no rattle, no wheeze. "Steve."

Erskine smiled and glanced over at Richards. "We did it."

Richards ambled over to stand next to Erskine. "Yes. Of course."

Tony didn't even bother rolling his eyes at Richards' smug certainty. "Steve, how do you feel?" He didn't give a damn about the muscles, he wanted to know Steve was all right. 

Steve smiled at him and took Tony's hand as he stepped down from the capsule. He looked down at his chest. "Wider?"

Tony laughed. And then fell down, tangled with Steve, amid a loud noise and reek of chemicals. For an instant he thought the machinery must have overloaded, and he thought, 'Richards!' but then he realized the explosion had come from the doorway. A tall man wearing a mask and a cape stood there, silhouetted by smoke and suspended particles of cement dust.

"Doom will destroy you, as you have destroyed Doom!" He threw a round metal object at Richards. It exploded. He laughed and whirled, running out of the door and away, while the generals and scientists and technicians all stood and stared.

Tony and Steve got up. A glance told Tony that Steve was all right. It didn't take more than that to see that Richards was gone, and Erskine... Erskine was going. Steve knelt beside him. "Hold on, Doctor."

Erskine smiled at Steve. "Remember. You're... a good man." His eyes slid shut and he stopped breathing. 

Steve stood up and his face was like stone. He ran out of the door. Tony followed, but lost him in a few steps. Steve... Steve ran. God. Steve ran and he leaped and... it was the most beautiful thing Tony had ever seen. 

 

Steve returned, sweating and still furious. 

"Catch him?" Tony asked.

"No. He... there were dozens of men, all wearing capes and masks. I couldn't tell them apart. He got away."

Tony put his hand on Steve's arm. "The generals want to talk to you."

"Huh." Steve looked at his arm, and then turned his hands over to stare at them. "I guess... I'm not 4-F any more?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter-  
> Comcast is acting like it's going to fail, so I figured better to give you what I had now, just in case.  
> Chapter 21 is only a few days past chapter 20 anyway. I know that the procedure didn't take place in Queens in the movie, but eh. This is an AU, not everything will line up perfectly.


	22. Pull a Mussel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony finally have explicit sex. YAY.

"So," Tony said a week later, "they finished all their tests?"

"God, I hope so," Steve replied as he sat down on his camp bed to take off his boots. For security, now, after the fact, they'd moved to an army facility. If Tony hadn't turned in Kruger, they might not have let him come along, but Steve put his foot down and for once people listened to him. "I think they've run out of ideas. 'How high can you jump, Mr. Rogers?' 'How fast can you run, Mr. Rogers?' 'How much weight can you lift, Mr. Rogers?' 'How long can you keep it up, Mr. Rogers?'. I finally could be good for something, and I'm just... a performing dog."

Tony sat next to Steve. "I'm kinda interested in how long you can keep it up, Mr. Rogers."

Steve dropped his boot to the cement floor with a 'plunk'. "What?"

"Your heart is strong now, and so are your lungs," Tony pointed out, with a hopeful expression. "For once, you could take me."

Steve flushed. "Yeah. Tony. I... I break things. I'm not used to this. I might hurt you."

"You won't. I trust you." Tony leaned in close and started unbuttoning Steve's shirt. "I've heard them talking. They want to send you around the country, raising patriotism, and money. Once they're done here."

"Yeah. I heard." Steve frowned. "I should be in training, but instead they've got someone measuring me for a costume. I finally drew one myself because they had me in feathers! Feathers! To look like a bald eagle."

Tony pressed his head against Steve's now broad and warm chest to keep from laughing. Steve petted Tony's hair. "I drew little wings on the hat, to make them happy, but it's still gonna look so stupid."

"You could never look stupid, Steve." Tony rubbed little circles on Steve's chest.

"You're only saying that because you want to get into my pants," Steve replied, with a grin.

"You know me so well." Tony started working on Steve's belt buckle. "Well, when you go on tour, you really can't take me along. They're gonna put you up on a pedestal. Surrounded by beautiful dames." Tony tried not to let the jealousy show in his voice, but Steve did really know him. 

Steve caught Tony's chin and urged him to look up. Tony liked Steve's new hands. He'd liked the old ones, too. "Tony, I'm not gonna be fooling' around with the chorus girls. Women been tryin' to mother me all my life, I know how to play like I don't know nothin' about sex."

"Women like innocents, or so I'm told." Tony stretched up to kiss Steve. 

"I'm your guy, Tony. I won't forget that." Steve put his arms around Tony and boosted him up so Tony was kneeling on the bed, straddling Steve. "Do I have to give you a promise ring?" 

Tony huffed. "I'd rather you gave me something else." Tony squirmed. "And I want to do it without Romeo getting in between." Steve blinked up at Tony, surprised. Tony put a finger on his lips. "You can't get sick now. I want to feel you, not rubber."

"Yeah." Steve's voice was hoarse now, and he definitely was enjoying the idea. From Tony's position that was unmistakable. "I want to. But... I'm awfully strong, Tony."

Tony whined in frustration and put his hand between them to rub at Steve's crotch. That was about the only thing the serum hadn't enlarged, which was probably because Steve had been perfect there all along. "You've always been strong, Steve. Please?"

"You could ride me," Steve offered. At any other time, Tony would have accepted the compromise, but he wanted it all. 

"I want to feel how strong you are. I want you to take me. I want to lay there and let you do all the work." Tony really wanted to convince himself that Steve really was cured and even if Steve could bench-press a Packard that wouldn't mean as much as if Steve could screw Tony into the miserably thin mattress.

Steve put his arms around Tony and picked him up, turning him around to lay on the camp bed. With genius forethought, Tony had made sure Steve had been given the largest, strongest, one available. It wasn't a four-poster, but at least no bits were dangling off the edges. "You're lazy," Steve said. He unbuttoned Tony's shirt, slowly, his big fingers working with care.

Tony laid his arms back up over his head and grinned. "And greedy, don't forget greedy."

"How could I ever forget that?" Steve leaned down to kiss down Tony's exposed throat, and across his sinewy chest, where a few hairs were finally sprouting. "You're also vain, selfish, smug, and you tell horrible puns."

"And you love me."

"And I love you."

Tony brought his arms up and pushed Steve's shirt over his shoulders, having to stretch to do it. "This is weird."

"I know," Steve said softly.

"It's a good weird." Tony put one hand on Steve's chest. He loved doing that, feeling that powerful thrum of heartbeat. "You deserve this. If anyone ever deserved a second chance, it's you, Steve."

Steve swallowed hard. "They can't keep me out of it, once we get into the war, you know? I'll come back to you if I can."

"I know." Tony closed his eyes for a moment. "Why are we so serious? I didn't come here to be serious." Tony ran his hands up and down Steve's sides, under his shirt, fingers tracing the washboard of muscle and bone. "I came here to come."

Steve rolled his eyes. "I've warned you about puns in bed, Tony." He flexed his fingers.

"No! NO!" Tony squirmed, but Steve was fast. He tickled Tony's armpits mercilessly until Tony yelled, "I give! Uncle! No more puns!"

"That's better," Steve said, smirking. He laid down next to Tony with one big hand splayed over Tony's belly. "Catch your breath. You're gonna need it."

Tony caught Steve's hand and brought it up to his mouth to kiss it. "You're the only one who's ever made me laugh. You're the only one who's ever made love to me."

"I know." Steve turned to kiss Tony lightly on the cheek. "The others. They don't mean anything. You know that, right? They never meant anything."

"Stop, you're getting serious again." 

"You started it."

"No, I didn't, you did!" Tony seized the opportunity to discover that Steve was still ticklish. Steve flailed and giggled.

Then Steve forced Tony's hands down. His face was flushed and he was grinning. "We still have too many clothes on." 

Tony licked his suddenly dry lips. "I bow to your superior military strategy. Let me up."

Steve pulled back and stripped, with his back to Tony. Tony didn't have to see to know that Steve was blushing. He always did. Tony thought he was more embarrassed by the blush than nudity. Tony only watched a few seconds, temporarily paralyzed by the bands of muscle flexing, the hollows above his hipbones, the dip of his spine, the... Tony got up and hastily removed his clothes before his increasing excitement ruined his trousers. After all, he was going to have to walk back across the compound to his own little space with the technicians.

At the last moment, he remembered the jar of salve he'd swiped from the medical supplies. "I got us some good stuff. Doesn't smell like Crisco." 

Steve turned around, and Tony couldn't help admiring him. "Oh, my lithe, active, ardent man." He wasn't joking, really he wasn't. Steve was smooth and sleek, and so very ready for action it made Tony's mouth water. "Can I suck you first? Do you think you could go again tonight?" On the occasions Steve had been able to achieve completion, he'd been done for the night, but now... the odds seemed good.

"Oh, yeah, I'm pretty sure," Steve said. "I feel like a million bucks." He was looking at Tony with the same blazing fierceness that had aroused Tony since they first met.

Tony fell to his knees carefully. It wasn't any fun when you hit too hard. Steve came to him and put his hands in Tony's hair, not pulling, not demanding, but judging by the way his hands trembled, he wanted to demand. "I'm going to do you right, Steve." Tony licked and kissed, dropping the jar of salve to the floor so he could use both hands to fondle Steve's hot, smooth legs and deliciously firm ass while he reacquainted himself with Steve's cock, pleased to find his old 'map' still worked. A lick here, a hot breath there, a brief teasing suck _there_ and Steve was moaning and holding onto Tony and calling him names, a confused jumble of endearments and gutter filth that Tony always loved because it meant Steve wasn't thinking, was just feeling and being glad to be alive. Steve tasted so good, smelled really nice, without the bitter tang of illness that had hung around him so long that Tony didn't notice it until it was gone. Tony traced a vein with his tongue, favoring the left side, since Steve said it always felt better there. Until Steve said different, Tony was going to go along with what had worked best in the past. When he reached the head he took it in his mouth for a quick suck, rolling the tip of his tongue under the retracted foreskin. Steve shouted and yanked on Tony's hair, thrusting forward and then pulling back before Tony could choke. A second later and Steve was coming, hot and sweet, sweet like fruit, something like apple, but sharper, more wild. Tony held still until Steve released him, and then he leaned back, grinning up into Steve's face. "Nice. That was... really nice." Tony licked his lips, and put his hands down to his own cock, giving it a squeeze to tide it over. 

"Sorry," Steve said. He was flushed beautifully, rosy pink all over. Tony loved Steve's fair skin, and he was glad that hadn't changed. "Sorry," Steve repeated. "It just... it happened so fast, I couldn't hold back."

"Yeah, I noticed." Tony patted Steve's leg. "How do you feel, champ? Oh, would you look at that," Tony said, pleased to note that Steve's cock was already waking up again. "Can you touch yourself? Are you ready to go again?"

Steve took a deep breath before he experimentally circled one hand around his cock. He let go almost immediately. "Gimme a minute." 

"Hurts?"

"No, it's just too much right now." Steve grinned, brightly. "I'm not gonna leave you high and dry." He held his hand out. "For once, I'm gonna take care of you."

Tony snatched up the jar of slick and took Steve's hand. "You always did, Steve." They went over to the bed and exchanged kisses for a few minutes. It was so nice not having to worry that Steve might run out of breath. Tony loved kissing Steve, and he wasn't in any hurry. Well, his roger was, but he could wait for his Rogers to roger him. "Look how good I am," Tony said between kisses. "I haven't said even one pun."

"But you're thinking them, aren't you?" Steve sucked a mark, low on Tony's throat where it would be hidden by his shirt, out of habit. 

"You know me too well." Tony wriggled to center himself more on the bed and spread his legs in invitation. "Slick me up?" Tony grabbed his knees and tucked up tight when Steve moved back to pick up the jar. Tony sighed when Steve ran one thick, greasy finger around his hole before teasing at the entrance. Steve had always had strong, clever hands. Came from drawing all day, Steve said. "Yeah, that's good," Tony told him, encouraging because Steve still seemed to hesitate. "I'm not made of glass, you know. Gimme another one."

"I'm running this show," Steve muttered, but he was smiling. "Don't need a backseat driver." Then he added another of those newly thick fingers and Tony let his head drop back onto the thin pillow with a pleased sigh. He was only quiet for a moment, though. 

"So good, Steve. Yes. Nice. Niiiice. Goood Steve." Tony knew he was rambling, but Steve only made an amused huff and continued his careful preparation. By the time Steve settled in place to actually get down to business, Tony was in his mellow good place, the place only Steve could send him. He let go of his knees so he could wrap his legs around Steve's waist. Everyone else was always hurry up and fuck and Tony was just convenient to scratch an itch. Steve made love to Tony, even on bad days when kissing was too much, Steve's smile and his voice was enough. This, this was wonderful. 

Steve pushed in, and thank God and all his angels, Steve didn't stop to ask if Tony was all right, if Steve was too big, if they hadn't used enough slick. He just gasped, and his eyes were full of awed surprise, like he might have imagined it, but never really knew what it would be like, and then he was shoving in, greedy as a starved man seated at his first banquet. "Tony," Steve kept saying his name as he fucked, hard and fast, and deep.

Tony hung on for the ride, moaning and gripping Steve's arms as hard as he could, feeling the muscle like cordwood, invulnerable. Hell, Tony didn't even think he could bruise Steve. It lasted a little longer than the blow job, but not by much. Thankfully, Steve retained enough presence of mind to give Tony a hand, and yeah, Tony didn't hold back, coming after only a couple of strokes, before Steve collapsed, sobbing into Tony's shoulder while Tony petted his hair.

"Tony. I love you. I love you."

Tony turned his head enough to brush Steve's temple with his lips. "I love you, too, Steve. I always have. I always will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Still in March 1941, but I feel the need to provide at least a few factoids.  
> [ 1940's cars](http://www.anythingaboutcars.com/1940scars.html) All US auto companies halted production of civilian passenger cars on Feb, 9, 1942 and instead produced war products including anti-aircraft guns, machine guns, aircraft engines, tanks, Jeeps (the department of war's 1/4 ton four wheel drive military vehicle), combat cars, shells, helmets, and many other products for the military. Production for civilians did not resume until 1946. 
> 
>  
> 
> [ Strictly germ proof (poem written in 1919 by Arthur Guiterman)](http://www.bartleby.com/104/50.html)
> 
>  
> 
> [ backseat driver](http://idioms.thefreedictionary.com/backseat+driver) A passenger who gives unwanted and/or unneeded directions to the driver; also, a person who interferes in affairs without having knowledge, responsibility, or authority for doing so. This term originated in the United States in the 1920s, when it was first used for a passenger legitimately directing a chauffeur, and it was quickly transferred to figurative use.


	23. Goldfish Bowl

They started Steve out touring the podunks around New York City in shabby town halls and dingy community centers and sometimes even a large barn. Tony rode trains and busses and occasionally a farmer's cart in order to join the audience every day for the next two weeks and cheer Steve on. He was glad they'd paid up the rent on the flat because Tony wasn't earning a dime. Steve got paid little more than the chorus girls, and had to spend most of that on food. He could eat like nobody's business now. At first, Tony had to admit, Steve wasn't worth the salary. He blushed and stammered and tripped on stage. He forgot his lines. He dropped the tin shield. He never dropped one of the girls, though and he never actually hit the poor guy who played Hitler. Tony met him backstage. He was a pleasant Englishman named Henry, who waxed his mustache, pomaded his hair and wore tweed when he wasn't being the villain. He told Tony that people see what they expect to see, and he'd never got mistaken for Hitler once out of 'costume'.

Steve learned fast. At the end of the two weeks, he was hitting his cues spot on, and could put on a convincing fake smile, and endorse the purchase of Defense bonds in such ringing tones that Tony had to keep his hat in his lap during the close of the performance. 

Then they put Steve and the company of players on a country wide tour. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone," Steve told Tony at the train station. "You know, I'm a little worried about you." 

They hadn't even been able to kiss in weeks. Tony shook Steve's hand. "Nah," he said, "I'll be fine. You know me. I always land on my feet." Tony watched Steve board the train. Tony walked along beside the train as the conductors slammed doors shut all along the carriages. Steve leaned out his window and waved as the train started to move. Tony took a deep breath. "I'll be eighteen next month." He could see in Steve's eyes the moment the realization hit. Tony would be eligible to volunteer for service.

"Good luck!" Steve shouted. "Good luck, Tony!" The train picked up speed. Tony stood there and waved until it was out of sight.

"Good luck, Steve," he said softly. He would make Steve proud of him.

 

Tony was pretty sure the government wouldn't pay for him keeping possessions in storage while he was in boot camp. He didn't want to chance Steve's pretty little table being thrown out, or cut up for firewood. It was the only thing Steve had of his mother's. He decided the best thing to do was take in a roommate who would value the table for itself. The table looked French to him, with little fiddly flowers inlaid in different colors on top, and graceful curving swirls of cat paw feet on the ends of the legs. So, who did Tony know who was French, and reasonably honest? Reasonably, in Tony's world, meant that you didn't steal from friends.

He had nothing against thieves who stole from strangers. Everyone's got to eat. 

Tony knew several hookers who purported to be French, but they lost the accents when it was 'just us girls'. Tony probably knew more French than them, since he'd bought a pocket size French dictionary at the pawn shop months ago and spent any free moments he had memorizing words to use to amuse Steve. He could read a French newspaper, but speaking it... he could put together a sentence that worked well enough to deal with the occasional French emigré who wandered from his intellectual salon looking to get laid.

"Oh! Remy, of course." Tony had met Remy LeBeau when they were both running from a police raid. Remy was a gambler, and a thief, but he had style, and was good natured enough, so long as you didn't try to cheat him. 

It took a few hours to track Remy down to a smoke-filled back room where the slap of cards and mutter of voices was muffled by a radio playing in the background. Even in the dimness, Remy wore dark-tinted glasses. Tony didn't know how he could even see to play, but Remy gave him a wave as he entered. "Hullo, Darlin'," Remy drawled. "You come to give me the good luck, hein?"

"Do you need it, sweetheart?" Tony purred, putting a little sashay into his walk.

"Non, non, these gentlemen 'ave been vary generous. I think they take pity on the man without a countree." 

Tony refrained from rolling his eyes. Remy had been born in New Orleans, not France. He must be working a table full of fools, country boys come to the big city to learn how the world works. Well, Tony didn't mind playing along and he could see the rubes were getting restless. "You promised to take me to dinner and a show," Tony said, putting on a pout.

"Ah, mon cherie calls. No true gentleman could refuse." Remy swept the money into his pocket and was on his feet in one smooth move before anyone could complain. "I return to give you revenge later, eh?" Remy smiled as he took Tony by the elbow and walked out with him.

"You did not need to rescue me, mon chou," Remy said once they were outside and walking swiftly away from the building. "Those boys... they are big, but slow."

"What did you call me?"

Remy grinned. "Mon chou. My cabbage."

"Cabbage." Tony huffed. "Speaking of cabbage, I have a proposition to put to you."

"Tony, mon petit, I think you are very charming, but not for me."

"I don't mean that kind of proposition. How would you like to share a flat with me? It's in Brooklyn, very respectable. The landlady is an ogre of respectability. It'd be a good pied a terre for you. No one would think to look for you there."

Remy winced. "Your accent needs work."

"You can help me with that." Tony grinned. "I can show you shortcuts for counting cards."

"That, I do not need. But I shall look at this flat." Remy paused. "Why did cabbage make you think of your proposal?"

"Um, no reason." Tony mentally crossed his fingers that Mrs. O'Rourke down the hall wasn't making cabbage soup, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: We're getting to the end of April. [ Emigré New York: French Intellectuals in Wartime Manhattan, 1940-1944 ](http://www.amazon.com/Emigr%C3%A9-New-York-Intellectuals-Manhattan/dp/0801862868) You can read a few free pages.
> 
>  
> 
> [Tips to learn a new language in a short time](http://www.wikihow.com/Learn-a-New-Language-Fast)


	24. A Queer Fish

Tony peered in a shop window reflection, and fluffed up a straggle of hair above his upper lip that was heroically attempting to join forces to become a mustache. He put his shoulders back and chest out, and stood as tall as he could. Then he sighed. "Happy birthday, Tony," he told himself, and felt in his pocket to reassure himself that he had the page Sister Mary Terrifying (Mary Teresa to others, but always terrifying to Tony as a child, and she hadn't weakened with age) had taken from the orphanage records and given him to prove he really was eighteen years old today. She'd written a copy to keep, and made him swear on the Bible that he would do his best to return the original, once he enlisted. And then she had _LOOKED_ at him over the rim of her glasses.

Honestly, Tony didn't know why they didn't just enlist Sister Mary Teresa. Hitler would be wetting his drawers in no time.

He went into the Brooklyn Induction center and looked around. The place wasn't exactly packed, but there were plenty of men standing in lines. Some of them looked younger than he did, which cheered him. He got on the tail of the nearest line, then he noticed they were all holding papers. Oh, yeah, he should fill out the form first. He saw a table set to one side loaded with forms and holding a scattering of pencil stubs. He took a form and a pencil, and began filling it out, leaning down to write.

A heavy weight fell on the back of his neck. "Should'a got a haircut, girlie."

Tony squirmed enough to catch a glimpse of a burly, dark blue sleeve with two shiny brass buttons on the cuff. His heart sank. "Officer, I don't know what you're talking about." The grip tightened on his collar, making Tony cough. A moment later he was dragged to the door and pushed outside before he was released. Tony staggered and turned around to face his nemesis. He recognized the faded carroty hair peeping under the man's hat, and his washed out blue eyes, and his broken pug nose. The man folded his arms and glared at Tony.

"I'm given' ye the benefit of the doubt, Miss Antoinette. Maybe you want to sign up to help fight the Nazis. That's the only reason I don't run you in. Your kind ain't allowed to serve. You know that."

Tony's heart sank even further. "I wasn't..." He shut up as the cop's glare darkened. "All right. Thank you, officer." He turned away. There were other induction centers.

"And I'm passing the word. You get caught tryin' this somewhere else, it's prison for you."

Tony nodded and walked away. That was really an empty threat. He could probably get away with it. There were a lot of places to go, the copper probably wasn't even going to tell anyone anything. He was just trying to scare Tony. And heck, even if he did pass the word, it wasn't like he had a photograph of Tony or even knew his real name. But... on thinking it over, did Tony really want to enlist? Bucky was still being shuffled from camp to camp, training and training to be a marksman. If Tony could figure out a way to bypass the whole training business he could get right to work at something he was already good at. Maybe he couldn't be much of a soldier, but he could do _something_ to help the men who were built tough, like Rhodey. Oh, yes, Rhodey! Airplanes need mechanics! Tony could do that, he was sure. He turned in the direction of Grand Central. He'd go to Tuskegee and talk to Rhodey.

 

"Tony," Rhodey said over a cup of coffee in the cafeteria at Tuskegee. "Look around you."

Tony did. There were young men eating, and a few elderly women serving up food, and a few older men chatting amongst themselves. The walls were drab, there were no decorations, the tables were plain wood, and in general Tony didn't see anything worth noting. "Yes?" 

Rhodey sighed. "Tony, this is a segregated campus. The program is for black men only. Everyone here is black. You're asking me to sneak you in here and get you added on as an official member of the support staff. Not counting the fact that I would be risking getting kicked out, it just isn't going to work."

"Oh." Tony was depressed. "I should have thought of that." He sighed and put his head down on the table. "I told you about Steve. He's gone off to sell Defense bonds with beautiful chorus girls. I just..."

Rhodey patted Tony on the shoulder. "You have got it bad. You wanted to impress him by getting yourself killed? Tones, that is not really a solution."

"Not killed." Tony lifted his head. "I wasn't even trying to impress him. It's just. Steve makes me feel like I could be someone better. Do something that matters. He makes me a better person. I want to do this not just for Steve, but because I want to prove to myself that I'm not just a whore. Even if they decided to let me enlist, I still wouldn't be _doing_ anything, not unless the US joins the war."

Rhodey's expression softened. "Yeah. Yeah, I see what you mean, Tones." Rhodey looked thoughtful. "You know, Canada's already fighting."

"Canada?" Tony blinked. 

"Yeah." Rhodey bit into his sandwich and chewed and swallowed before speaking again. "And I heard they're taking in Free French and Free Polish. Soldiers, sailors, pilots...mechanics. So, you know, if you know any Frenchmen or Poles who want to enlist, they should go to Canada."

"Canada." Tony picked up his own sandwich. "I _do_ like their bacon." He grinned at Rhodey. "Thanks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this story- Tony's birthday is May 10, and he's 18 on May 10, 1941.


	25. Red Herring

Sister Mary Teresa actually looked sympathetic when Tony returned the paper to her and said he'd been turned down. She didn't ask why, which made him just a little grateful.

 

"Remy," Tony said the moment he entered their flat, "can you make me a Frenchman?"

Remy looked up from the table, where he was laying out his favorite deck of cards and making them flip and do tricks. "I think, mon ami, that I am misunderstanding your remark."

Tony yanked off his hat and coat and hung them on the wall. "I need to be a Frenchman in Canada."

"Oh, well, that is not too impossible. The French in Canada, they do not speak the language as beautifully as I. So your barbaric accent would pass." Remy shuffled, dealt a round to each side of the table and smiled at the four winning hands.

"Great! All I need is for you to write me up a letter of introduction. People like official papers." Tony pulled over the other chair, turned it around and sat with his arms crossed on the top of the chair. "Oh, I need you to get me some fancy stationery from, oh, let's say, The Plaza."

"Tony. No."

"You're right, the Hotel Pierre would sound better." 

Remy shook his head. "They GIVE away their stationery to guests. You want me to steal something people give away?"

"I know, but consider it your sacrifice for the war."

"I do not see the connection here." Remy swept his cards together and put them away in his pocket. He stood up. "But, because you do not snore, I will do this thing for you."

 

Mrs. O'Shaughnessy typed up a letter, at Tony's dictation, on the hotel stationery in English, and then Remy translated it into French and wrote it on another sheet of Hotel Pierre's watermarked fine bond paper. Remy's handwriting was unreadable, but a thing of beauty, all swirls and flourishes, and very impressive, even before he'd dripped hot candle wax on it and smacked a signet ring (Tony didn't ask its provenance) down below a squiggle that could very well be the Marquis of Carabas as far as Tony could tell. 

Tony carried the papers around with him for a week, following leads from various hookers who serviced foreign visitors. They passed word around when dignitaries were coming to town as a matter of course. You never could tell what flavor they wanted, and like a pride of lions, no matter who made the kill, everyone got a taste. Tony actually got a few good jobs before he landed a really promising lead. One of the girls had an encounter with a young man who had tried to impress her with the fact that he belonged to a Prime Minister's entourage.

'The Prime Minister of England?' she'd asked, playing up to him, and then pretended to be even more impressed with the romanticism of a government-in-exile. She had yawned when she told Tony later, over a cup of coffee at a diner that didn't mind serving anyone who could pay. "Poland," she said. "He told me his boss was the head of Poland, Prime Minister Sikorski. And my boy didn't even have a decent sausage. You'd think, eh?" She borrowed train fare from Tony and left, humming to herself.

 

"Monsieur, please to pardon this intrusion," Tony in rapid-fire French, hoping that the bellboy hadn't lied, and this severe and trimly fit older man, wearing a crisp uniform discreetly adorned with medals, was Prime Minister Sikorski. At least he was leaving the hotel at the right time, with a cab waiting to take him to Hyde Park. He continued in his best French, "I beg your indulgence, Minister. I am trying to find a sponsor so that I may train in the country of Canada, with the Polish peoples as well as my own countrymen, whom we cannot fight on our own land." Tony may have got a little excited and confused things at the end. Just a little.

Sikorski, if it was him, stopped, and waved back the young man who had run up to get between him and Tony. "I speak some English. You may lie to me in your own language."

Tony didn't blush, it wasn't a thing he did. And anyway, he had Mediterranean skin tones, so it wouldn't show. But his face felt warm. "I apologize, sir. The lie was only in the language. They won't let me sign up here, but I can be useful."

"You are young. Grow up and try again." Sikorski nodded to his aide, who began loading luggage into the open trunk of the taxicab.

Tony could see himself being dismissed as a child. "I am eighteen, sir. I speak, read and write English, French, and German. I can take apart and repair any engine, blindfolded. I have... an instinct for machines, and I have studied as an engineer and mathematician." So he didn't have papers to prove it. "I could fix the remaining flaws in the Spitfire! I know what they did wrong with the Tacoma Narrows Bridge!" His voice cracked on the last few words. And now Tony's face really did heat up.

Sikorski turned back to him, with a flicker of interest on his otherwise placid features. He studied Tony's face for a long moment, and then he nodded. "So. At least you are not a saboteur. And, I think, not a spy." He waved to his aide. "See that this young Frenchman has his papers in order. He goes with our people to train in Canada." And then he got into the taxicab and it took off, leaving Tony blinking.

"That," Tony said as the aide took his arm and led him back into the very fancy hotel, which Tony was in no way dressed for, "that is a great man."

"Yes, _monsieur_ , " the aide said with a smile. "He is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still May 1941. Next chapter should be a time jump, though.
> 
>  
> 
> [Visits to the U.S. by Foreign Heads of State and Government--1940-1944](http://2001-2009.state.gov/r/pa/ho/34911.htm)
> 
>  
> 
> Prime Minister Sikorski of Poland (Government-in-exile) visit is listed as April 6-10 1941, but it mentioned him visiting New York City, Palm Beach (Florida), and Chicago which I think a bit much for 4 days of political smoozling- that barely covers the traveling time), so I think April 6-10 was possible for his first stop which I don't know what city it was. Washington DC, possibly? & I'm stretching it to say he was in NY in May). In brief googling, I can't determine whether he spoke English, but it seems possible.
> 
> [ FDR had a 'retreat' in Hyde Park, New York,](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Top_Cottage) which he frequently used to meet important people.
> 
> [ Wikipedia article on Sikorski, ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W%C5%82adys%C5%82aw_Sikorski) an influential, intelligent determined man, who died, along with his daughter, his Chief of Staff, and seven others on July 4, 1943 when their plane crashed only seconds after takeoff. A British court of Inquiry determined the crash was due to jammed elevator controls, with no explanation how that happened, but said sabotage was ruled out and ruled it an accident. This contradiction made the Polish government refuse to accept the findings. Also note: Sikorski studied engineering at the Lwów Polytechnic, specializing in road and bridge construction, and graduated in 1908 with a diploma in hydraulic engineering.


	26. Angling

Tony hadn't realized that 'papers in order' was a code word for having him investigated right down to the color of his socks. He talked himself hoarse while the aide took notes, and when he admitted what he did for a living, and that none of his credentials were official, the man had just nodded and kept writing. Tony had been politely _asked_ to stay in the aide's suite, accompanied by a huge, silent fellow who liked to crack walnuts with his bare hands. A nervous couple of days followed. Tony hadn't even been allowed to send a note to Remy, who was expecting Tony to vanish at any time, anyway so he wouldn't worry. And Remy certainly wouldn't report him to the police.

 

"Monsieur," the aide said cheerfully on the third day, walking into the suite and dismissing Gargantua with a slight tilt of his head. He laid down a sheaf of papers on the desk. "Sister Mary Theresa vouches for your age. She also says that you are a good boy at heart."

Tony wanted to hide his face. He coughed.

The aide put aside the top paper. "Patrolman Liam Farrell says that you helped start a riot against the Bund." Another paper. "Rabbi Ben Goldberg did not see that, but he says you can hold your beer." Another paper. "Your landlady says you play your radio too loud, and that you have a smart mouth. Which you used to start the riot." Another paper.

Tony didn't think Steve's landlady even knew his name. He was pretty sure he didn't remember hers.

"Professor Einstein calls you a prodigy." The aide looked over his eyeglasses at Tony and made a 'hmm' noise. "He also says that you are trustworthy, having seen things and kept them to yourself. He doesn't say what you've seen." Another paper. "An attendant at the British Pavilion at the World's Fair says that you helped the victims of a time bomb, although you had little stomach for it."

Tony swallowed and looked aside. He didn't like to think of it. It was stupid. He was volunteering to go to war and no doubt would experience much worse, even if he was fortunate himself. "I was there. I had to try."

"Yes. We all have to try." The aide dropped the rest of the papers in a neat heap, and held out his hand to Tony. "My name is Filip Kolasinski."

"Anthony... Tony Stark," Tony said, accepting Kolasinski's hand with caution. The callus he felt didn't go along with a secretary or aide. Tony wasn't sure what he actually did, but spy was beginning to seem likely.

"I was unable to obtain proof of your claims of mechanical expertise. If you don't mind." He took a strip of dark cloth from his jacket pocket. Tony turned as he heard the door open behind him. Gargantua entered with something wrapped in oil-streaked cloth. He set it down on the table with a grunt, signifying its weight. "Mr. Stark?" Kolasinski held out the blindfold.

"This is crazy." Tony shut his eyes and let himself be blindfolded. He felt his way over to the table, pulled back the cloth and ran his hands over the revealed engine. "Hmmm... tools?" There was a clunk, and his hand was guided over to a metal box. Ok, Tony thought, this will be fun.

 

Six or seven months later, Tony wasn't sure which, as he was for once kept busy enough and with his mind engaged enough, that he never got bored and the days and nights blurred together. Anyway... where was he? Tony was happily deconstructing an Avro Anson's landing gear retraction mechanism, ridiculous, it took 140 turns of the hand crank by the pilot. No wonder so many pilots just made short flights with the gear down even though it made them lose 30 mph cruise speed. Disgraceful inefficiency.

He had a radio, tuned to a French Canadian station, playing in the background. Since he was working on the tarmac no one minded the noise and he could juice it up as high as it would go, letting his mind drift to the beat while his hands figured things out on their own. Life was good. He was just another mechanic, but the pilots and trainees knew very well their lives depended on the mechanic's skill, so they were all treated with far more respect than Tony had ever had. He didn't even miss sex. He wrote postcards to Steve, and Bucky, but there was no point trying for an actual correspondence. Half the time the cards never showed up and they couldn't really talk about anything, because 'loose lips sink ships', but Steve would draw little cartoons, Bucky would talk about impressing dames, and Tony would tell them how his efforts at learning Polish and growing a beard were going. It was nice. He missed Steve fiercely, but Steve was proud of him, and that made it all worthwhile, even if he hadn't been having the time of his life playing with airplanes and ordnance.

Well, anyway, he was on his back, lying on a tarp, staring up at a cranking system that belonged in a museum, when the music cut off suddenly. He paused to listen for whatever announcement was important enough it couldn't wait for the regularly scheduled news.

There was a crackle. Then the announcer said that the United States base on Pearl Harbor had been attacked by Japanese bombers. Reports were sketchy, but it had been confirmed that the attack had been devastating. Tony dropped the wrench he was holding and got to his feet, numbly. He hadn't. He hadn't expected that. He'd thought things would go on as they were, with the President urging preparations, and slowly convincing people that the US needed to fight. But this. Oddly enough, he kept seeing Steve's face, outraged at the attack by an undeclared foe. Steve hated sneaks as much as bullies. They were at war, now. There was no way Congress could deny it.

Steve would get to fight. They'd have to let him, wouldn't they? In Europe, probably, that would be where someone like Steve would be best. Tony reassembled the gear carefully, concentrating on not making any mistakes that might get someone killed. When he was done, he checked it over three times before he headed for the command quarters to volunteer to accompany the next unit of trained pilots going to Europe. He didn't care whether he went with the Poles or the French. Maybe he couldn't fight at Steve's side, but he could at least be in the same theater of war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_aircraft_of_Canada's_air_forces#Aircraft_listing  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Avro_Anson
> 
> The Avro Anson was mainly used as a multi-engined aircrew trainer, becoming the mainstay of the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan. After training in the frontline aircraft type, crews would advance to the frontline bomber squadrons with those aircraft types (Fairey Battle, Bristol Blenheim, Vickers Wellington, Armstrong Whitworth Whitley, and Handley-Page Hampden). At the start of the war, the Lockheed Hudson was beginning to replace the Ansons in Coastal Command with one squadron of Hudsons and one with both Ansons and Hudsons.
> 
> Limited numbers of Ansons continued to serve in operational roles such as coastal patrols and air/sea rescue. Early in the war, an Anson scored a probable hit on a German U-boat. In June 1940, a flight of three Ansons was attacked by nine Luftwaffe Messerschmitt Bf 109s. Remarkably, before the dogfight ended, without losing any of their own, one of the Ansons destroyed two German aircraft and damaged a third.
> 
> The aircraft's true role, however, was to train pilots for flying multi-engined bombers such as the Avro Lancaster. The Anson was also used to train the other members of a bomber's aircrew, such as navigators, wireless operators, bomb aimers and air gunners. 
> 
> http://www.history.com/topics/world-war-ii/pearl-harbor
> 
> Just before 8 a.m. on December 7, 1941, hundreds of Japanese fighter planes attacked the American naval base at Pearl Harbor near Honolulu, Hawaii. The barrage lasted just two hours, but it was devastating: The Japanese managed to destroy nearly 20 American naval vessels, including eight enormous battleships, and almost 200 airplanes. More than 2,000 Americans soldiers and sailors died in the attack, and another 1,000 were wounded. The day after the assault, President Franklin D. Roosevelt asked Congress to declare war on Japan; Congress approved his declaration with just one dissenting vote (The single vote against Congress's declaration of war against Japan came from Representative Jeannette Rankin of Montana. Rankin was a pacifist who had also voted against the American entrance into World War I. "As a woman," she said, "I can’t go to war, and I refuse to send anyone else."). Three days later, Japanese allies Germany and Italy also declared war on the United States, and again Congress reciprocated. More than two years into the conflict, America had finally joined World War II.
> 
> And yes, Filip Kolasinski is Phil Coulson. I didn't PLAN it, but when he started investigating Tony, I recognized him. Googling Polish names ensued until I found one that was at least reminiscent of Phil Coulson.


	27. Neither Fish Nor Fowl

The Free French identification that Kolasinski had got for Tony worked like a charm. All he had to add to complete the picture was a rakish beret and a few curses in French any time someone questioned his right to be anywhere. He wound up in England, working at an air base protecting London. He was pleased that no one thought twice about letting him drive a truck to pick up a forgotten load of engine parts sitting at a train station in the nearby town. As a city boy, he'd never even thought about learning to drive a car.

He drove cautiously because the tires were thin, and the road in bad repair and the occasional escaped livestock got in the way, but eventually he reached his destination (not aided by the fact that all town names were removed from signage so as to impede potential invaders). He presented the papers to the stationmaster, and while awaiting the release of the parts he amused himself by looking at the posters on the wall of the station. There were the usual exhortations to secrecy, bravery, and sacrifice but one poster stood out. The bright splash of red, white, and blue caught his eye, and he ran over to make sure he wasn't imagining it.

"Steve!" They still had him singing and dancing. But at least he was _here_. The poster read 'London, Bristol, Manchester, Allied bases in Europe and North Africa' which wasn't much to go on, but Tony knew how to make friends, someone on base would know about it. They seized whatever entertainment there was to be had, these days. And the chorus girls were very pretty, even if you were blind to Steve's charms.

 

The base morale officer had dates and locations of every show, and after a bit of ribbing about Tony's 'romantic French' nature and his instant attraction for the man in the poster, which Tony DID NOT steal from the railway station, there was a stack of extras in the office. Well, anyway, after the teasing, Tony and a dozen of the base workers, and even a couple of the pilots, were in the front row of the London Palladium watching a comedy act and being very relaxed and cheerful, like everyone was, and ignoring the patch in the ceiling that didn't quite match, where an unexploded parachute mine had stuck. London was full of scars, but like the milkman who climbed over rubble to make his deliveries, no one made a big deal about it. Well, Tony's mind drifted a bit, back to the days when he'd followed Steve to every little one horse town in the tri-state area, and he shifted in his seat, impatient while people who were NOT STEVE sang and danced and did comedy skits, and then the familiar cheesy music came on, and he sat up straight.

Steve was gorgeous, and really, really there. Tony sat, rapt, ignoring the snickers and elbow nudges of his mates, while Steve went into the shlocky vaudeville routine which was utterly redeemed, in Tony's eyes, by Steve's honesty. The snickers died down at the finale as Steve effortlessly lifted a motorcycle laden with three singing brunettes. "Bloody hell," one of the mechanics whispered to Tony, "we could use him for an engine hoist."

Tony met Steve backstage by the simple expedient of paying to have his photo taken with Captain America. Steve smiled at Tony automatically, the same plastic smile everyone got, and then his eyes widened and he blushed red enough to show around his mask. "Captain, it is an honor," Tony said, in English, but with his best French accent. He held out his hand, and Steve shook it, and then he threw his arm around Tony and grinned into the camera. "Mike, I want a copy of that for me," Steve said.

 

They went out to a pub to talk, since Steve was still sharing quarters with the chorus girls. Tony figured he was being a gentleman, and giving them protection from any unwanted advances. Tony wasn't jealous. No. Ok, a little. The girls got to see Steve whenever they wanted. "You're looking great," Steve said. "Put on some muscle." And he reached out to feather one finger lightly across Tony's mustache which had finally grown to the stage where it needed to be groomed regularly. "I like it." He said softly, "I bet it tickles."

"We'll have to test that." Tony picked up his beer and drank. "But... where?" With all the destruction, housing was at a premium, and what hotels were in usable condition were fully booked. "I live on..." And then Tony remembered secrecy and not talking about anything remotely useful to the enemy. "Well, there's no privacy. I'd like to be able to talk to you."

"One of the girls has a friend who owns a flat in London. She knows... well... a little about you. Just that you're special to me. Pretty sure we could arrange something." Out of costume, Steve's eyes were even bluer and his blush even brighter.

"Lead on, mon ami," Tony said, finishing off his beer in a few gulps.

 

They got into the flat and looked around just long enough to be sure there really wasn't anyone else around before they were kissing and working at buttons and zips. "God, Tony. You're so beautiful," Steve said once they had stripped fully and got through the first round of unthinking hot, just touching was enough and they hadn't even got horizontal, let alone got to the bed, and then they were rather glad because they hadn't any way of cleaning up and it would be a poor return on generosity to mess up their host's bed. Steve pressed his hands along Tony's shoulders and then down across his chest. "You really did fill out."

Tony held onto Steve and breathed heavily into his shoulder. "Clean living. Also, working on heavy machinery and not enough moving equipment." He kissed a line across Steve's chest. "Remember the days when I slept till noon, and the most exercise I had was running up the stairs?"

"You always were my tough guy." Steve petted Tony's hair. "You're still short."

"Hey!" Tony broke free far enough to laugh up into Steve's face. Then he grew serious. "Have you heard from Bucky?"

"Not anything directly, but the 107th's been activated. They're fighting." Steve looked wistful. "Both my guys are doing good."

"Eh, I'm just a mechanic," Tony said, but he was warm inside at the feeling that Steve was proud of him. "I had to become French." He grimaced. "Which is fine, but everyone keeps asking me if I eat frog's legs. Yuck. I don't mind fondue, though."

"Well, maybe we'll get to Paris and have fondue together. I'll probably still be a dancing monkey by the time the Allies march into Paris."

Tony hugged Steve. "Look, I'm officially Free French, seconded by the Poles, and then the Canadians, so I get loaned out a lot. I'm actually in enough demand that I can usually get a choice which unit to serve among the allies. I'll meet your tour whenever I can. We'll get lucky, sooner or later."

"Yeah. We will." Steve grinned. "I still have my four-leaf clover. Wanna see? I put it inside my Pa's pocket compass."

"Steve, you are such a soft-hearted boob." Tony kissed Steve again, and really, who needed a bed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/London_Palladium
> 
> From 3 September 1928, the Palladium reopened under the directorship of the impresario/producer George Black as part of the General Theatre Corporation (GTC). When Black took control the theatre was close to bankruptcy. He revived its fortunes by returning to the original ethos of the Palladium by staging large variety shows, with a capital 'V' - and as well as headlining Britain's homegrown acts he brought over big American stars such as Duke Ellington and his Orchestra, Adelaide Hall, Louis Armstrong and Ethel Waters for two-week engagements.
> 
> The theatre was hit by an unexploded German parachute mine on 11 May 1941. The device had fallen through the roof, becoming lodged over the stage. A Royal Navy bomb disposal team was sent to deal with it. After the mine was located, the fuse locking ring had to be turned to allow access to the fuse itself. Rather disconcertingly, the fuse began ticking as soon as it was touched. This caused a rapid evacuation of the immediate area, but the mine did not detonate. The two team members cautiously returned, extracted the fuse and removed other hazardous components, rendering the mine 'safe'. It was then lowered to the stage and disposed of. The George Medal for gallantry and undaunted devotion to duty was given to Sub Lieutenant Graham Maurice Wright for his action in the Palladium on that night. He was later killed, on 19 Aug 1941, while en-route for Gibraltar on board the torpedoed troopship S.S. Aguila.


	28. Fish Story

For a few months it worked out fine. After a while Steve's USO group were on, not a regular route, but at least a semi-predictable routine of following the active line, close to the front, staying for a week or so with each one to make sure all the troops had a chance to see the show. It wasn't difficult for Tony to be at least in the general area, and then there was always something needing repair with whatever unit was hosting the USO. In between shows, there wasn't much for a non-combatant to do but read, but there was a surprising amount of reading available, so that was good.

As it turns out, reading every technical manual Tony could lay hands on, regardless of the language, and fixing and improving everything he could grab, had backfired in his plan to remain footloose and fancy-free. He was brought to the attention of someone higher up, who passed him onto another someone higher up, with no names mentioned and no flashes of brass so he really didn't know what was going on, until he wound up in a tent under the beefy hands of an MP. A scowling general was shuffling papers at a table. One of them looked a lot like Tony's forged identification. Tony was sweating bullets. "Reporting as ordered, General Phillips, sir," the MP announced.

The general grunted and looked up at Tony, finally. "Sit down before you fall down, son." 

The MP shoved Tony into a chair and then stood behind him. Tony opened his mouth, and then shut it without saying anything. The general nodded. "Yeah." He moved to sit on the edge of the desk, facing Tony. "This..." He waved the paper and then tossed it on the desk behind him. "Is hogwash. I kept seeing you hanging around the chorus girl and at first I thought 'well, hell, no skin off my nose.' But then I realized you looked familiar."

Tony bit the inside of his lip.

"You were in Queens, that day, working with Richards. What the hell are you doing playing grease monkey?" 

Tony glanced behind him at the MP, but didn't say anything.

Phillips dismissed the MP with a head shake. Once the man had gone, he said, "Well? You're technically a spy, but I'll be damned if I can figure out whose side you're on."

"I'm not a spy!" Tony blurted. "I'm an American! They wouldn't let me enlist, so... I... I just figured out a way to help, best as I can."

"Huh. Why'nt you stay with the eggheads? That'd be more useful than fixin' up jeeps."

"I don't have any qualifications on paper. Without paper, you don't exist. Sir," he tacked on hastily.

"Looks to me like you do." Phillips stood up. He smiled slowly. "Top brass wouldn't let me have any of their pet eggheads. Too delicate for field work. Looks like I got me one of my own." He picked up a pile of dull-colored cloth topped with a pair of army boots, and tossed it at Tony.

Tony caught it automatically and stared down at a US private's uniform. "Sir?" 

"Welcome to the US Army, Private Stark. If you have any complaints, I don't want to hear them."

Tony stood up. "Sir, you don't know anything about me. Maybe I really am a spy."

Phillips huffed a snort, probably what passed for amusement with him. "You're not talking to an idiot, boy. You left a paper trail a mile wide. Agent Kolasinski cleared you. He said you're a little shit, but you can get the job done. That's all I care about. Dismissed, soldier!"

Tony saluted and stumbled out of the tent, where the MP waited. "I'm... in the army?"

The man grinned at Tony. "Yeah, ain't it a kick in the head. C'mon, I'll show you where you bunk."

"But... what am I supposed to do? I don't even have a gun."

"Someone's gonna come talk to you. Me, I keep my nose outta the general's business."

 

Tony's head was swimming by the time he'd been given a more detailed briefing by a woman who so clearly outranked him he didn't dare ask questions. The organization behind Erskine's experiment had apparently lost a lot of influence when Erskine and Richards died, taking their process with them, but Phillips had kept the barebones and transferred the remaining personnel to his command in Europe. 

The Strategic Scientific Reserve sounded like a lot more than it was. Most of the time, Tony was continuing to do what he'd been doing all along, but Phillips made sure that any captured gadgets or scientific papers found their way to Tony. Most of it was in German, and since Phillips preferred to cut out the middleman for security reasons, Tony was usually the first one to read and sort into 'useless' 'potentially useful' and 'oh, shit, General look at this'. There was a group called Hydra that seemed to be vaguely under Hitler's umbrella. Most of the nastiest ideas had their logo stamped on. Tony didn't have a classical education, but he was well read enough to briefly wonder why a six-tentacled skull-headed octopus was the symbol for a gang named after a multi-headed dragon. Maybe it was because the boss didn't want anyone under him to think, and so they were all legs. Centipede wouldn't be a very scary name.

He didn't see Steve too often after that, because he was stuck with Phillips' command, but when the USO came around, Tony at least had a private workshop. Gadgets warranted more protection from weather than soldiers, so he always had walls and a door that closed. They seldom risked much, but at least they could talk. 

 

"Got a card from Bucky," Steve said. He pulled out a crumpled, stained, dog-eared piece of thin card. There was a picture of a line of can-can girls on the front, and the back said, 'Hi Steve, having a wonderful time. I'll save a girl for you.' 

Tony pretended not to notice the brownish stain on the corner. Maybe it was coffee. Or dirt. It didn't have to be old blood. "Yeah, that's Bucky." Tony studied the handwriting for a moment. It was a little shaky. "He's doing swell."

"Yeah. Yeah, he is." Steve smiled a little before putting the card back in his pocket. "And so are you." 

He didn't add anything, but Tony knew how badly Steve felt about not being able to fight. "I spoke to the general. He said... he said..."

"Yeah, I know. He doesn't have time to make a place for a chorus girl. I just... I thought once I was fit, I'd come over here. Be on the front lines. Serving my country. And here I am. Wearing tights."

"You look great in tights," Tony said, trying to lighten the mood. "Oh! After. You know, after, Rhodey and I are gonna do something. We're not sure what, but we'll have a plane and we could use you."

"I don't think I could pick up a plane with you and Rhodey sitting in it."

"I'm not saying your muscles are bad. I love your muscles," Tony said honestly. "But I'm thinking we could use your brains. You have a lot of experience."

"Lots of valuable experience making a fool of myself in front of crowds, you mean?" 

Tony rolled his eyes. "Experience dealing with people. Rhodey is great, but he's stuffy. I'm amazing, but I think I intimidate people with my genius. You, you know how to talk to people. Make them feel good. Make them want to do things they never did."

"Like ride upside down in an airplane?" Steve shook his head. "I got sick on the Cyclone on Coney Island. I don't think I'd be a good example."

"You've always been a good example to me, Steve."


	29. Flying Fish

Tony was in the audience when the crowd started jeering at Steve. "Nice boots, TINKERBELLE," one of them shouted and Tony could see how Steve staggered, hurt and surprised by the insult.

"Hey, give the guy a break," Tony told the guy next to him, who had picked up a glob of frozen slush and mud to heave at the stage. "He's with us, you know?"

"He wasn't with us," the soldier said. He threw the mud, but it fell short. "Up there, prancing around like this is all a joke, making fun of real soldiers." The guy looked more than mad, he looked like he wanted to cry, but soldiers don't cry any more than Starks. He wiped his sleeve across his face. Steve had fled the stage and the girls returned to resume singing and dancing again. "He's up there. All shiny and fat, like a lapdog. My buddies...the 107th..."

"The 107th?" Tony's blood ran cold. "What happened?"

"What didn't? They scooped us up like rats in a trap. Maybe fifty of us got out." The soldier took a swig from his canteen, which Tony could smell didn't contain water. His attention had turned sourly back to the stage. At least no one was jeering at the girls.

Tony slipped out of the audience and went backstage. Steve was scuffing at his boots and glaring at them. "I told them," he muttered when Tony came close. "I told them this costume was stupid."

"Hey, no. It's not the costume." Tony caught Steve's sleeve. "They had a hard time, and took it out on you. They... the 107th... ran into trouble. I just heard."

Steve's head lifted. "Come on."

Tony followed Steve at a brisk stride across the ground and over to General Phillip's command tent. Tony made himself invisible in Steve's shadow. The General was even more caustic than usual. He always was when he'd lost a lot of men. But Steve's determination got Phillips to admit that Bucky hadn't made it out, and that the US wasn't committing any forces to a rescue mission. In mathematical terms, it made sense. In financial terms, it made sense, don't throw good money after bad. But Bucky wasn't a number, wasn't a coin to spend, any more than any of the other men. At least two hundred men. Just abandoned.

The General was distracted. And he didn't really know Steve. So he didn't notice Steve focussing on the battle map, but Tony knew that look of old. He followed Steve back out across the compound, and over to Steve's little backstage area. Steve pulled on a coat, and snatched up his latest shield, one Tony had made from good steel after the last one crumpled when it fell off the prop truck. He grabbed a steel helmet from the rack where the girls kept theirs. "Steve," Tony said.

"I'm goin'."

"Yeah, I know, but Steve, you can't just walk into Austria."

"Yeah, I can, if that's what it takes."

Tony shook his head. "Wait, we need a plan."

"I have a plan. Attack."

"That's dumb, Steve. You're not gonna do anyone any good. We need... oh! Hey, Rhodey! We need Rhodey, he can borrow a plane and drop us off."

"US? You're nuts, Tony."

"You need a ride. I can sweet talk Honeybear into it."

"We'd be wrecking his career."

"Only if we get caught!" Tony said gleefully. "C'mon."

 

"This is nuts," Rhodey said as he pulled on his flight helmet and checked the tabs on his jacket. The airfield was patches of light amid swathes of darkness, with a thin double line of lights set up outlining a runway. The lamp lighters were setting out the last ones. "Tony, that order you rigged up is gonna bounce so high once it hits the general's desk it'll probably land in D.C."

"Eh, I'll get it and toss it without him seeing it," Tony said cheerfully. "Hey, don't I get a parachute?" Tony reached for the stack of folded parachutes in the storage shed where they were huddled while Rhodey's plane was being refueled.

Rhodey smacked Tony's hand and tossed a plain harness to him. "You get a baby harness without a chute because you are not jumping. I'm only giving you that much so I can clip you to a bulkhead and keep you from bouncing out. Captain Rogers, he gets a parachute." Rhodey tugged at Steve's harness, double-checking the buckles and clasps. "Jesus, this is nuts. Look, you pull _this_ when you're well clear of the plane, the longer you wait, the less of a target you are, but the more likely you are to get splattered over the landscape, so you just... take your best guess."

Steve nodded.

"You wait for the canopy to fully open, believe me, you'll feel it, then you pull on the guidelines and angle, use your body, everything you've got. It's not like steering a car. Try not to land on anything pointy." Rhodey slapped Steve on the back. "You're gonna be all right, soldier."

"Thanks." Steve smiled at Rhodey. "I'm sorry to be getting you into trouble."

"Oh, hey, man, no. Don't worry about it. Tones used to get me in bigger trouble all the time. I kinda missed it. Ain't no way I'm leaving our boys down there without trying, you know? Anyone wears the uniform, he's got my back." Rhodey strode off to his plane to make last minute checks.

"Rhodey's a prince," Tony said as he worked his way into the harness.

"Yeah. He is."

 

"Krossberg coming up," Rhodey yelled over the sound of the wind coming in to the open hatch. "OH, crap." The plane tilted and bounced, bangs and rattles filling the air. "We're taking fire. Go, Rogers, GO!" 

Tony shoved at Steve's back, as he hesitated, looking back at Tony, and then Steve grabbed him, kissed him hard, and then turned and dove out of the plane. Tony was clipped to the bulkhead, but he leaned out and watched until he saw a puff of pale bloom against the night. "Good chute," Tony yelled and turned to face the cockpit. "Can I be gunner?"

"HELL, NO!" Rhodey said, "I had to borrow a damn jump trainer instead of my Mustang, so Rogers could jump. It's only got dummy ammo." 

"Well, crap," Tony said. "I can see a squadron coming after us."

"Isn't that just peachy," Rhodey said. He got up and headed back to Tony, walking steady even as the plane rocked to the force of all the hits it was taking. "We're on autopilot. Turn around."

Tony obeyed. His heart was in his throat. "We're going to die, Rhodey and I just wanted you to know..."

"Shut up." Rhodey grabbed Tony and pulled him close, and began snapping the back of Tony's harness to the front of his own parachute harness. "I know, I'm gorgeous, and you want to have my babies."

"You haven't even given me a ring."

"Shut up." Rhodey picked Tony straight up, and ran for the open hatch. He flung them both out.

"WHOOOOAAA!" Tony yelled.

"SHUT UP! And stop wiggling!" Rhodey shouted. He counted out loud, and then pulled the ripcord on his chute.

Tony grunted as he hit against the harness, and they spun a little before settling to fall against the night sky lit by flashes of tracer fire, and a few seconds later, a blossom of fire where their plane had been. "Goodbye, Baby," Rhodey said to the plane.

"Oh, God, we have to do this when we get our own plane," Tony said gleefully.

"You are so nuts, Tony."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: At this point, I totally gave up on making any time lines match. The 'Red Tails' were constituted as the 332d Fighter Group on 4 July 1942, then activated on 13 October. While according to Captain America: The First Avenger, the rescue of the 107th took place in Nov. 1943. Imma gonna say this is MUCH earlier than either. Probably November of 1941.
> 
> [ This is pretty much what Rhodey and Tony looked like. ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tandem_skydiving#mediaviewer/File:Tandemskydive.png) Except that it was night, and they were in army/air force uniforms.


	30. Unshellfish Reasons

They landed in a heap and lay still for a few moments while the parachute silk settled around them. Then Rhodey unbuckled from Tony and got up to begin gathering the silk. He said quietly, "Do not freak out on me, Tony. We are thirty miles behind the line, with enemy forces all around us. I would like to get back to base, where I can have my head chewed off by an American."

"Uh. Yeah. Oh, hey. I gave Steve a transponder. We can follow him!"

"Fine, sure, what the hell." Rhodey stuffed the bundled parachute under a bush. "Here." He handed Tony a combat knife before loosening his 45 caliber pistol in its holster. "Don't say I never gave you nothin'."

"Thanks." Tony dug out the receiver and turned until he got a signal. "That way."

Several hours later Tony said, "the signal's getting weak. Steve must have found transportation." They were skirting a raised road, walking in a ditch beside it. From time to time they heard a truck rumble past. "We're going to miss him. We need to hitch a ride."

"Uh, Tony. I know you spreckin ze dutch pretty good, but I'm pretty sure they got a rule against picking up American hitchhikers. Especially ones my color."

Tony was silent for a long time, well, for him. They kept walking. "Sorry. Wish I could do something to make it up to you."

"You can give my Mustang a tune-up when we get back. And get Steve to paint me a pretty girl on the nose. "

"Sure thing."

 

They walked on through the night, and finally holed up in the woods in a sheltered area beneath a cluster of ancient trees just as dawn was breaking. "C'mere," Rhodey said softly once they settled. "We can't risk a fire, and it's gonna be a lot colder now we're not walking." 

Tony nodded and curled up next to Rhodey. He pulled out the receiver. "Huh. Steve's getting closer. Do you think he's already found them and is bringing them back?"

"I know you think the sun rises and sets on Steve Rogers, but really, Tony. One man against an army?"

"You didn't think he was going to make it."

"To be honest, no. Of course, I didn't think we were gonna get shot down, either. So I guess my judgement's not all that great." Rhodey was sitting upright, gazing into the darkness, with his gun laid across his knees. 

"So, why'd you do it?" Tony leaned against Rhodey, looking in the other direction. "Why'd you fly us?"

"Because the man was right. You don't just leave a brother behind. Now, shut up and let me think what we're gonna do."

 

"Ok, here, turn out your pockets," Rhodey said a few minutes later, once they could see clearly. "Let's see what we've got to work with." Rhodey had his regular gear, including first aid kit and Mae West, plus a few odds and ends he'd traded for, like the silk scarf printed with a map that at least showed the major roads and waterways.

Tony had... well, Tony had come straight from work, so he had nuts and bolts, assorted screwdrivers, washers, pliers, a hip flask, a few inches of lead solder, a short length of copper tubing, several wads of thin baling wire, a few springs, and a coil of strong wire, along with a particularly naughty postcard from Bucky, a pack of chewing gum, and a paper twist of raisins. Tony laid everything out on a tree stump. Rhodey stirred the assortment around, and then he nodded and picked up the coil of wire and the copper tubing. He wrapped the end of the wire around the middle of the copper, leaving a hand grip length to either side. "This'll do." He started walking towards the road, not waiting for Tony to shovel everything back into his pockets.

"Do what?" Tony said, lowering his voice after Rhodey glared at him.

"We're gonna hitch a ride. Look for a narrow place in the road, with trees near either edge." 

Tony glanced at the wire, and then at the road. His eyes widened. "We're going to clothesline a motorcycle?"

"You got any better ideas?"

"Um. Not at the moment, no."

 

They had to wait until the perfect target approached. They needed a single vehicle, well out of sight of any convoys. Tony lifted his head at the sound of an approaching motorcycle. "This one. BMW R75." 

"What?"

"It's got a sidecar. OHV 750 cc engine, 26 horsepower. It's.." Tony waved his arms. "No time to explain. It's good."

"Right." They'd fastened one end of the wire to a tree trunk on the other side of the road and looped their end over a branch just high enough to clear the handlebars of a motorcycle with the excess wound around the copper tubing. They'd let the wire lie flat in the road, invisible in the slush and mud, and timed how fast they could get it raised. The best method they'd found was for Rhodey to throw himself to the ground, holding the tubing beneath himself. "This better be the last time." He rubbed his chest, and then took a deep breath. "Go, Tony."

Tony scrambled up out of the ditch and crouched low beside a ragged leafless bush. The whine of the motorcycle grew. "NOW!" Tony shouted. The wire snapped taut, catching the motorcyclist in the face. He was flung back while the cycle continued onward, twisting as the passenger tried to get the controls by grabbing the handlebars, which only made it veer and fall into the ditch. The passenger was still moving. Panicked, Tony ran down the road, grabbed a heavy branch and hit the passenger, a full roundhouse swing that connected with his neck. There was an ugly cracking noise and the man flopped once and went still. Tony dropped the branch, and shut off the motorcycle, which was trying to climb out of the ditch. Then he ran back to check on the driver. He was still breathing, but that stopped just as Tony and Rhodey reached him. Rhodey didn't say anything. He patted Tony on the shoulder, grabbed the driver by the shoulders and began pulling him into the ditch. "Get the helmet and jacket," he told Tony.

"You know how to drive this thing?" Rhodey asked once they had the motorcycle back on the road and the soldiers hastily covered with branches. Altogether, they'd taken a couple minutes, which seemed like a very long time to Tony.

"Uh huh." Tony tugged his motorcycle jacket closed and got on. He wired the receiver in the middle of the handlebars. "Hop in."

Rhodey got in the sidecar. Tony revved the engine and took off, swerving from side to side while Rhodey clung to the sidecar and cursed. "I thought you said you knew how?"

"I do! Just... hadn't... done it before." After a couple more close calls, Tony got the motorcycle going evenly down the middle of the road. "We're good," he shouted over the sound of the engine. "Put your scarf on!"

"Yes, Mom!" Rhodey shouted back, pulling his helmet down tight, and wrapping his scarf around his face to cover as much of his skin as possible. 

 

Warned by the receiver, Tony stopped the motorcycle when they were a few minutes away from intersecting Steve's course. "I just had a thought," Tony said. "What if Steve thinks we're Germans?"

"Now you think of that?" Rhodey climbed out of the sidecar, and stretched his back until it popped. "We'll put up a white flag or something. You got anything white on you?" He took off the German helmet and jacket, tossing them to the side of the road.

Tony stripped off his German gear and shuffled back through his pockets again. "I've got... OH, hey!" Tony took out Bucky's postcard and wedged it between the coils of a spring and then wired the spring to the front of the motorcycle, so it swayed with the wind, with the girl wiggling suggestively. "Help me block the road."

They put the motorcycle in the middle of the road and dragged a few large branches to either side, before they ran out of time and ducked back into hiding. Neither of them wanted to get shot by any trigger-happy soldiers Steve might have saved. Tony was sure Steve wouldn't have come back without saving someone.

 

"Holy cow," Rhodey said in an awed voice as he used a pair of binoculars he'd taken from the motorcycle to look down the road. 

"What, what?"

"It's... it's a god damn parade." Rhodey handed Tony the binoculars. 

Tony glanced at the tanks and trucks and the crowd of men, scanning along the line until he saw Steve. Steve in that ridiculous, beautiful costume, marching along with gun in hand, and a rather worn, but whole, Bucky at his side. "STEEEEEEVE," Tony shouted, and Rhodey had to hold him back from running out into the road. Tony turned in Rhodey's arms to hug him. "Steve did it."

"He sure did," Rhodey said, equal parts astonishment and relief in his voice.

"So, do you think that means we won't be court martialed?"

Rhodey huffed a sigh. "Him, no way. There is just no way anyone's going to court-martial Captain America."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ More info on the 'Red Tails' the Tuskegee Airmen. ](http://acepilots.com/usaaf_tusk.html) Including the time Eleanor Roosevelt went flying with one of them, because she was curious.
> 
> [ Pictures of some of the Tuskegee Airmen's planes](http://graphicommunication.com/illustration/early-planes-of-the-tuskegee-airmen/) and more info. Including this: _'the U.S. Army Air Corps had initially ordered that none of the Tuskegee Airmen should be allowed to paint their personal markings onto any of their aircraft, (like the “nose art” common to so many other units’ World War Two aircraft), out of some fear that the Nazis would be able to spot them by their nose art, and single them out for “special treatment.”_ I think that was just part of the general scheme to give them a hard time and make them feel unwanted in the US military. But boy, did they prove themselves. Bomber crews quickly came to recognize the 'RedTail Angels' as the escorts who were most faithful, and gave them the most reliable protection and support, instead of hanging back, getting too close, or chasing after kills just from ego. They did the job they were trained to do, with courage, skill and dedication.
> 
> [ Honor in the air](http://nypost.com/2012/12/09/amazing-tale-of-a-desperate-wwii-pilots-encounter-with-a-german-flying-ace/) News story about an encounter with a German pilot refusing to fire on a crippled US aircraft out of honor, despite knowing that if anyone identified him, he'd be shot as a traitor. Captain America would have saluted that pilot.
> 
> [ photos & descriptions of fighter pilot uniforms & gear](http://www.303rdbg.com/uniforms-gear8.html) includes some specifically identified as Tuskegee pilot gear.
> 
> [ The motorcycle.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BMW_R75) 'The third side-car wheel was driven with an axle connected to the rear wheel of the motorcycle. These were fitted with a locking differential and selectable road and off-road gear ratios through which all four and reverse gears worked. This made the R75 highly manoeuvrable and capable of negotiating most surfaces.'


	31. Electric Eel

The first tank ground to a halt a few yards in front of the motorcycle. Steve ran ahead and snatched up the postcard, glancing at it for an instant before he handed it to Bucky, who had followed closely on his heels. There was a small cluster of soldiers right behind them, wearing the uniforms of several different allies. "It's all right," Steve said, loudly enough for the man with the bristly walrus mustache and bowler hat, who was looking out of the top hatch of the tank, to hear. "These are my friends. Come on out."

The man in the tank turned and waved to the rest of the troops who came to a staggered halt. Some of them looked like they could really use a breather. 

Rhodey and Tony emerged from hiding, holding their hands in plain sight and moving slowly out of respect for the wild-eyed looks on some of the armed men at the front of the crowd. Tony was grinning like a maniac. "I told you my tracker would work!"

Bucky said, "You and your gadgets, Tony."

Steve shook his head, but he clapped Tony on the back and then nodded to Rhodey. "Sorry about the plane." 

"Wasn't my favorite anyway, Captain," Rhodey said. 

"Still sorry." Steve turned back to the soldiers. "All right, let's get going."

The tank rumbled, puffed out a cloud of burnt oil and jerked. Then it stopped. 

"Aw, not again," the guy on the tank said. "Sorry, Cap. We might have to leave this baby behind."

"Let me have a crack at it." Tony ran up to the tank and climbed up the track, patting it on the side. "Don't be mean, we're liberating you."

"This kid know what he's doing?" 

"Probably!" Tony sang out cheerfully as he peered down into the turret past the man.

"Let him in, Dum Dum. Tony's good with machines," Steve ordered.

Dum Dum reluctantly backed up and let Tony enter. 

"Hey," Tony waved at the other man in the tank, a large black man who gave Tony a bewildered smile. "Move your feet, big guy."

"Name's Gabe. Gabe Jones. The guy breathing down your neck is Dum Dum Dugan."

"Uh huh," Tony said as he dove under the controls, and began prying at things, seemingly at random. "Tony Stark." He got up, grinned at Gabe, and then kicked the console. The tank shuddered and started up. "Percussive maintenance specialist."

"Thanks, now get out of the way," Dum Dum said, sliding around Tony to get to the driver's seat.

"Can't I have a turn?" Tony asked.

"No. Gwan, beat it kid," Dum Dum replied.

Tony rolled his eyes, shrugged at Gabe and climbed back out of the tank, which was slowly getting back up to speed. He joined Steve and the small group of advance guard, along with Rhodey. "I want one," Tony said wistfully, looking back at the tank.

"No, Tony," Steve, Bucky, and Rhodey said in unison.

 

Rhodey was right. When Captain America walked into camp, leading four hundred rescued allies, there wasn't a word about court-martial. General Phillips even stamped his approval on Rhodey's back-dated orders, temporarily seconding him to the SSR for the purpose of transporting Captain Rogers on his mission.

"Rogers," General Phillips said, once the wounded had been sent for treatment, and the rest of the soldiers had been sent to get something to eat before they began the process of sorting out the paperwork on changing their status and informing everyone who had a right to know that they weren't dead. "Rogers, I want an immediate report, just the high points for now." 

"You," the General said, as he gave Tony the hairy eyeball, and pointed towards his 'tech shack', "back to your playpen, and be glad it's not the stockade." Tony pouted a little, but he cheered up when Steve dug into his pocket and handed Tony a small gadget, with a blue-glowing speck. "Careful with that."

Tony nodded. He'd seen a few of the blue-glowing disintegrating guns in action. Just like something out of Buck Rogers in _Amazing Stories_. "This is perfectly harmless. It's a fancy battery."

"Be careful," Steve said once more before he left with the General. Bucky had already been sent off to medical even though he claimed he was fine and Rhodey had been sent back to his own base in a jeep, so Tony figured he might as well start investigating the gadget.

He set the gadget up in a stand, and since he'd sorta promised Steve he'd be careful, set up a remote experiment to gauge the output of the battery. It was a tiny thing, it couldn't be much. He put on his goggles and flipped the deadman knife switch. A second later he was lying on his back across the room, with his mustache gently smoking, and his goggles cracked across. "Wow," he croaked. "Big battery. Big, big battery."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Brief discussion of a science fiction fan club in NYC. Quite possibly the oldest SF fan club.](http://www.fanac.org/timebinders/scienceers.html)
> 
> The 1928 publication of Philip Nolan's original Buck Rogers story, Armageddon 2419, in Amazing Stories was a landmark event. This story led to comic strips featuring Buck Rogers (1929), Brick Bradford (1933), and Flash Gordon (1934). The comic strips and derivative movie serials greatly popularized science fiction.
> 
> [ General facts about military tanks. ](http://www.thortrains.net/armymen/tankfact.html) This page is on a site about playing with cheap toy 'Army Men' but the author [ is ex-military](http://www.thortrains.net/armymen/armymen6.htm) and knows whereof he speaks when he explained many things about tanks that I wouldn't have considered. He said that German tanks were often 'over-engineered' with precision made parts so complex that they were often delayed in arriving at the battle because breakdowns took so long to repair, whereas the US tanks had fewer, and less precisely machined, parts, as quick replacement of parts was a priority in the US design. The assumption (particularly for German tanks) was that for every 35 MILES of use, a tank would suffer a breakdown. 
> 
> ALSO Totally unrelated on the same site,[ photos of cats inside a toy castle.](http://www.thortrains.net/armymen/playcas1.html) [And more photos of cats enjoying the castle. Consider this a cartoon break.](http://www.thortrains.net/armymen/playcas2.html)
> 
> STILL looks like 5 chapters to go, they keep breaking into parts that demand to be separate.


	32. Fighting Fish

Tony wasn't allowed to take part in the discussion, mission planning, whatever it was, with Steve and General Phillips in London a few days later, after the rescued soldiers had given their statements and it had all been collated and chewed over and digested. Not that he really wanted to. Tactical stuff was boring. Tony was a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy.

He consoled himself that he'd see Steve soon enough. When they got tired of pushing pins into maps they'd let Steve come and join him and Bucky, and the five men in the cadre who'd led the escape. They'd found a nice pub, which had plenty of beer and booze. It was almost like being in a bar in New York, singing stupid songs and laughing too loud, except that the beer was warm. Clean living also seemed to have improved Tony's staying powers, as he matched them drink for drink, and still didn't fall under the table. Bucky was quieter than when Tony had known him in New York, but when he tried to pull away to go drink in another room Tony put on his best sad-eyed look.

Bucky stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and sat back down. "Fine." Bucky gave Tony a narrow-eyed gaze. "Last I remember, you promised to look after the punk for me."

"I did!" Tony was flustered. "He wanted to enlist, you know that. Wild horses couldn't stop him. He tried five times before..." Tony shut up, but unfortunately he had spoken during a lull in the singing, and his words were clearly heard.

Morita blinked at Tony. "Cap got turned down five times? How is that even possible?" Then he burped. 

Bucky gave Tony a dark look. "He kept getting into fights. The docs kept thinking he had something wrong with his head because of all the bumps."

"Oh. Makes sense," Morita said. He nodded and had more beer. 

Tony thought maybe he should have let Bucky go. He was brooding and upset over something. Tony got up. "I'm going to see if they have anything to eat."

"That'll waste the booze," Dum Dum said. He reached out and grabbed Tony's half full glass. "I'll just look out for this, for you."

"Thanks." Tony went to the other part of the bar, where there were old signs advertising different meals. Bangers and Mash, Bubble and Squeak, Steak and Kidney Pie, Cornish Pasty, Spotted Dick. Tony paused to reread that last. Yes. Spotted Dick. He gave a bright smile to the young woman industriously scrubbing a table. "Excuse me, miss, could you tell me what's good today?" She straightened and looked Tony over, disapprovingly. He didn't know why people did that. He had a mustache; he was old enough to be in any bar. 

"Do Yanks eat eel pie?"

"I'm a Dodgers' fan, myself." Tony smiled at her, which went over badly. He added hastily. "Sure, I'd like some eel pie." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bucky approaching. "Make that two, please." Tony sat down at the nearest table. Bucky joined him. He was holding a glass, rolling it back and forth between his fingers, before he gulped it down and set it on the table. 

"So," Bucky said at last.

After a moment, with nothing else forthcoming, Tony said, "Yeah."

They sat there in silence until the eel pie came. It wasn't half bad, especially when compared to ketchup sandwiches and k-rations. "Steve's good," Tony said at last. "I mean. This is right for him."

Bucky shrugged. "He's still Steve. We still gotta look out for him. Punk never did know when to back down from a fight."

"But he won't be fighting alone, will he?"

"Not if I can help it." 

They sat there talking about old times in New York, mostly about things that hadn't seemed important at the time, just day-to-day things they'd taken for granted. Hot dogs on Coney Island. Mr. Wilson's pigeons. The girls at the Congress of Beauty at the World's Fair. "Steve and I didn't try the Lifesavers' parachute jump," Tony confessed. 

"Yeah, I figured." Bucky pushed a piece of eel around the plate with his fork. "Steve's got tells. I always know when he's ribbing me."

"But you jumped anyway?"

"Sure. Why not?" He laughed. "The army built one for training, you know? I thought it was funny."

Bucky relaxed a little as they spoke, but he still seemed... different. Tense and quiet. Tony didn't know what that Zola guy had done to him. Bucky didn't really know, either, Tony thought. He'd sneaked a look at the medical report and it looked like he was ok, but what did doctors know? They didn't even know why some people got TB and some people didn't when they were all exposed to it. Tony made up his mind he'd keep an eye out for Bucky, as well as for Steve. Neither of them liked to complain, so you had to watch close to see if they were sick, or sad, or just plain tired. They finished the pie and had a few more drinks.

They both sat up at the same time, recognizing Steve's voice. He was talking to the men they'd left at the table, asking them to fight Hydra with him. Tony and Bucky shared a look. They didn't need more than that.

Steve came into the room and sat down at the table with them after he'd got unanimous agreement from the men.

Bucky said, "I told you they were idiots." 

"No," Tony protested. "They're pretty smart. They got Steve to run a tab for them. The army won't do that."

Bucky nodded. "You're right, they've pulled a fast one on you, Steve."

Steve smiled. "What about you? How smart are you feeling, Bucky?"

"Same as always. Smart enough to follow you and tell you when to duck."

Tony looked back and forth between them. "HEY! What about me? Don't I get an invitation to the club?"

"Tony," Steve said carefully. Tony could see him choosing his words. "You didn't train for this. You can... be our scientific liaison."

"Oh, no, you don't! I'm going with you guys! I'm not sitting back and picking at whatever crumbs you stumble over!" Tony leaned forward, almost putting his elbows in the pie plate. "You have no idea, just no idea, what Schmidt's got there. It's big. It's really big. I need to be there before you let those pyromaniacs blow the bases to hell and gone."

"We need to destroy Hydra. It's not a game, Tony. We're not going after new toys for you to play with."

Tony shook his head. "You can't stuff the genie back in the bottle, Steve." Tony couldn't say much more in public. "You can't destroy it all. Some will get loose, it always does. We need to know what we're up against."

Steve frowned. "If you go with us, you listen to orders. All of them, not just the ones you like."

"YES!" Tony raised his arms up high and shimmied in his seat, before getting up to dance around the room.

Steve exchanged a look with Bucky. "General Phillips isn't going to like this."

"Tell him Tony's a mascot." 

"Oh, hey," Tony said, "We need a name for the unit! Steve's Psychos?"

"NO."

"Cap's Cuckoos?"

Bucky snorted into his beer. "Howling Mad Commandos?"

"That'll work," Tony said.

Steve sighed. But he was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I researched nothing worth adding here-- unless you want a recipe for Eel pie. :^)
> 
> So a few random factoids:
> 
> The Dodgers not only were originally in Brooklyn, but the name was 'Brooklyn Trolley Dodgers' for the rail lines of Trolleys that once were set in the streets, and would trip you up if you weren't careful.
> 
> Brooklyn: The borough of New York City, is originally derived from the Dutch Breukelen (or Breuckelen, found it spelled both ways) meaning "broken land", and nothing at all to do with a brook. (Many places in New York city got their names from Dutch words, or those of the native American Indian tribes who had originally lived there, or the surnames of people who subdivided and built towns which were absorbed as the city grew.)


	33. Holy Mackerel!

"If you needed a mascot that bad you could have had a gerbil," General Phillips grumbled. "Hell, I'd have even sprung for a puppy." He and Steve were watching Tony gleefully investigating the Howling Commandos' latest 'loot' in his workshop. He looked like a raccoon, eyes circled in black smudges from where something had blown up on him as he was prying it loose from a crate in a Hydra munitions dump and totally frying the night-vision googles he'd been wearing. The goggles, along with the carbon polymer body suits he'd made for the Commandos, were Tony's creations. Every moment that they weren't actually on a raid, he was designing and building and having a wonderful time.

"CAP!" Tony shouted with glee, "watch this!" He loaded a percussion cap into a slingshot and aimed it at a chunk of something burning yellow-white that he'd just dragged out of a smelter he'd made from cement blocks and clay.

"Oh, that's going to end well." Phillips said.

"Tony, NO!" Steve shouted, but too late. The cap hit the raw metal and there was an minor explosion (minor compared to some of Tony's experiments). Tony got knocked back on his ass, in a cloud of smoke and smudge. Steve shook his head and went over to check that Tony was in one piece. Tony sat up, laughing. "Look!" He pointed at the chunk of metal. The explosion had blasted off the charcoal dust and dirt clinging to it, but not put a scratch in it. "Vibranium! It's stronger than steel, and a third of the weight. It's completely vibration absorbent. Steve, I'm gonna make you a new shield from this!"

Phillips glanced at the metal. "How much of this we got?"

"That's it." Tony got up and went over to the metal to pick it up with long tongs. The muscles in his arms flexed as he got the lump up and over to an anvil, which was obvious because his chest was only covered by a sleeveless undershirt. Tony liked blacksmithing. And he liked the way Steve looked at him when he was working. "Probably the rarest element on Earth. Might be some in deepest, darkest Africa, I dunno." He grabbed a pair of tough googles and put them on before reaching for a hammer. "This isn't even pure. If it was, I couldn't work it." Tony hummed happily as he pounded. "Turn up the radio, Steve. I need something with a beat!"

 

Tony kept up with the Commandos. It wasn't really that difficult. Well, all right, it wasn't a cakewalk, but he had Steve and Bucky to inspire him. They never seemed to get tired. Plus, when you were blowing up things, there was a wonderful rush, better than the Fourth of July. Tony felt like he could keep going forever. And just being with the group made him strong. He finally understood what Rhodey meant. Having other people to watch your back was amazing.

The Commandos were a great bunch. They may have blinked the first time they saw Tony cuddling next to Steve at their campfire, but after that, it was simply accepted that they were together. Bucky probably had said something, Tony thought, but maybe he didn't need to. Everyone adored Cap, and they wanted him to have whatever happiness he could get. After all, just because they'd been lucky on mission after mission, and never lost a man, or had any of them seriously hurt, didn't mean they expected to all get through the war alive. You couldn't dwell on it, but you knew when you went in with everything you had, just the eight of them against overwhelming odds every time... well, the pitcher can only go to the well so many times, right?

So they laughed and drank and sang songs, Tony beat the hell out of metal, Bucky shot winter apples off trees, and Steve learned how to make his shield practically an extension of his arms. He could make it sing. Literally. Sometimes he'd sit when thing were quiet and run his fingers along the edge and make it hum. Like the singing of a crystal glass when you run a damp finger around the rim. And sometimes Tony and Steve kissed in the dark. No one cared. They all did what they needed to get through the days. And if Tony daydreamed about maybe not just flying airplanes with Rhodey, but building some of his own designs... well, the Wrights started out with a bicycle shop, didn't they? 

Tony could figure out Hydra's power source. He just needed more groundwork before he could make it practical. Generators the size of your fist. He could see the future. He just didn't have the tools yet. He could _see_ it, but it was just out of his reach. Maybe when the war was over... you know, coming home as a veteran, with his cleaned up paper... they were actually paying him a wage, which wasn't as much as he'd made when working the streets hard, but when you factor in that he wasn't paying for food or housing, he'd probably clear over $600 a year as a buck private in active foreign service. That should be enough to start a business, or maybe get him into college- Einstein would vouch for him, and if he had actual paper behind him... yeah... he could make it. He could make something of himself. Be someone Steve would be proud to know. Once they were through with Hydra. They'd already cleared out nearly a dozen Hydra bases. Couldn't be too much longer, and then they could turn their attention to Nazis. Just as nasty, but without blue-glowing disintegrator weapons. Fortunately there didn't seem to be a lot of them issued to general troops.

 

Tony looked down at the snow-covered valley, and then up at the zip line overhead. Without gauging the wind, he couldn't be sure, but he thought maximum velocity would be at least fifty miles per hour before they hit the end of the line above the train tracks. He bounced on his feet a little, half terrified and half excited.

Bucky didn't look at all enthusiastic. "This is payback," he told Tony. "I made Steve ride the Cyclone at Coney Island."

"Yeah," Steve said cheerfully. "I threw up."

"The Cyclone was great," Tony remarked. "But this, this is gonna be like flying." 

Gabe looked up from the captured Hydra radio that Morita was carefully tuning. Gabe said, "You were right. Doctor Zola's on the train. Hydra's dispatcher gave him permission for full throttle. They must need him bad."

Falsworth put down his binoculars which had been aimed at the train steaming rapidly across the mountain. "They're moving like the devil. We've only got about a ten second window." 

Steve nodded and reached up to clip onto the line. Steve glanced at Tony and Tony could see him thinking that he'd like to leave Tony behind, take another Commando. They'd drawn lots. Steve always led the way, but whenever a mission didn't demand particular skills, they let chance decide who'd take the riskier places. Tony'd never asked for any special favors and Steve couldn't afford to give any.

"Let's get going." Steve clipped to the line and leaped on Jacques' signal. Bucky followed him without pause, and then Tony was on the line before he thought about it. Gabe followed him and they were flying. It was glorious for the few seconds it lasted, and Tony had to bite his lip to keep from shouting with glee. 

They landed, one, two, three, four, each on a different carriage. Tony staggered for an instant, then caught his balance and ran. The train was noisy, but someone likely heard the thumps of their landing. They followed Steve, and as arranged, Gabe stayed behind on the roof of the train while the others went in through a sliding door on the boxcar near the front of the train. Tony held his gun at the ready, staying behind and off to Steve's left, while Bucky took his usual place at Steve's right. They emerged into a steel-lined, ultra-modern compartment, with crates full of Hydra equipment. Tony didn't like the stenciled words on them: Waffen Munition, ok, fine, Arms and Ammunition, but Biologische Waffen-- biological weapons? But there wasn't time to think about it as several guards, one equipped with a huge mother of a blue-glowy weapon, came out of seeming nowhere. Tony and Bucky ducked into cover between stacks of crates and opened fire on the Hydra.

Hydra weapons took a few seconds to recover after each shot, so Steve leaped up and grabbed an overhead crate handling slide in the interval. It warmed up in time to fire, but thank God for Vibranium, the shield kept the disintegrating energy from having an effect. He knocked the guy down and slammed him with the shield.

Bulkhead doors slammed shut between them and Steve, they were too busy firing to worry about that. Bucky's gun jammed. Tony yelled to distract the Hydra from Bucky. It was all noise and flashes and confusion and Tony didn't even have time to be scared, just do what needed doing.

Steve got back to them in a crazy wild rush. They took out the last Hydra. Tony went to Bucky to grab his gun, to clear the slide. He knew that gun, it would only take him a second. He fixed it and handed it back to Bucky, then Tony heard the whine of a Hydra weapon charging. Steve shoved him and Bucky back, covering them with the shield. The blast blew out the side of the boxcar and tossed them around like a handful of dice. Tony looked up and saw Bucky had grabbed the shield and was firing back at the Hydra. Tony scrambled to his feet and tried to get behind Bucky so he could fire, too. 

The shield was hit, and Bucky lost it, sending it skidding across the boxcar towards Steve. The recoil flung Bucky towards the hole in the boxcar. "NO!" Tony grabbed Bucky's arm. They both slid towards the hole and out, wildly scrabbling for something to grip. Bucky caught a side rail with one hand, and clenched the other hand in Tony's jacket. Tony clipped a carabiner from his zip line harness to Bucky's so he could free his hands. Tony was dangling too far down to get the rail. He flailed with his feet, trying to get something, anything, to push against.

Steve climbed out after them, working his way along the remaining side rails. "BUCKY! Grab my hand!"

Bucky reached out. And the railing broke.

Bucky screamed. Steve shouted, "NO!" Tony pissed himself in terror, and clung to Bucky like a baby monkey. He didn't want to die. He didn't. 

They were falling. Bucky wrapped his arms around Tony. Tony closed his eyes and put his arms around Bucky. 

It was so cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Building steel from iron ore.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDy1jx6mLgs) SO cool, all sparkly in the night when it was done.
> 
>  
> 
> [ Comparison of Armed Forces/Civilian pay in 1944](http://www.usmm.org/barrons.html)
> 
>  
> 
> [ Parts of a railway car (England)](http://www.railway-technical.com/coach01.shtml)


	34. Toss Back the Little One

Tony opened his eyes. Huh. Not dead. But he wasn't sure he was glad about that. He was so cold, it felt like his bones were frozen. Maybe they were. He couldn't move. He was lying half on top of Bucky. He could feel Bucky's chest moving underneath him. So. Also not dead. Tony swallowed and tried to say something, but even that wasn't happening. Maybe he just needed to rest. He closed his eyes again.

 

"Achtung!"

German. That was German. Adrenaline must have still been working, because Tony felt his heart slamming against his ribs. He still couldn't move. He could see less than before, and there was a weight evenly distributed over his back and legs. Snow. They were buried in snow. Their breath had melted a small hole to let air in, but it wasn't allowing much light. Tony swallowed again. He thought he might be able to speak. Should he? Would being captured be worse than lying here to die slowly in the snow? They might just shoot them. Would that be so bad? Tony took a deep breath and gathered his strength.

"Heil Hydra!"

Ok, scratch that. Dying in the snow by inches suddenly had charm and appeal. Tony shut his eyes and tried not to breathe. Invisible, invisible, we're invisible, he thought.

"Herkommen!" an excited voice cried out and a swagger stick broke through the snow in front of Tony's face.

Oh, crap. Tony blinked as cold winter air entered the space he'd only just realized had been warmed by their body heat. Rough hands grabbed him and dragged him and Bucky from their impromptu grave, flinging them into a snowbank. They tugged at Tony, then he heard the rasp of a knife cutting the tough cord holding his carabiner, and he was shoved onto his back, holding his eyes shut against the light, holding his breath and playing dead for all he was worth. Hot fingers grabbed at his throat, pressing against his pulse. "Dieser lebt!"

Shit. They knew he was alive. He felt a shifting and heard the crunch of the snow as someone knelt next to Bucky. "Dieser auch!" Bucky was alive, too. 

Someone grabbed Tony's shoulders and began dragging him. This woke up pain like nothing he'd ever felt. He could still hear, and his brain automatically translated as he was dragged over to something hard and flat. Possibly a sled? The Hydra were talking. "Herr Zola will be pleased. He wanted more specimens for his experiment."

"Zola is gone. Perhaps we should just shoot them?"

"No. Zola does not matter. When one limb is cut off, another shall take its place."

"Heil Hydra!"

 

Tony couldn't keep track. He didn't know how many times he passed out, but every time he woke there was the crunch of boots in the snow, and the soft sound of Bucky's breathing beside him. Then they were in an enclosed place, sounds echoing off metal walls and the air so warm in comparison that Tony felt as if he was standing next to his blast furnace. "There, on the table," came another voice, this one belonging to an older man.

Hot hands grabbed Tony roughly by the shoulders and legs. He was dumped onto a metal table. He heard a thump as Bucky was presumably placed on another one. There were rustling noises, and then the voice said, in a pleased tone. "This was one of Zola's. Excellent. The serum seems to have had no adverse effects."

A moment later, Tony felt his jacket being tugged open and fingers pulling at his dog tags. "Hmm... no, this one was not on the list." Cold fingers prodded at his ribs. "Thin. Probably not worth the effort. Shoot him."

A semi-familiar voice, the Hydra agent who had seemed in charge, said, "Yes, Herr Fleischer." Tony was pulled again. His fingers twitched, but he still couldn't do anything.

"Wait. You found him in the snow? He may have enough natural resistance to provide a useful minimum level, before we risk the other specimen. Leave him."

"Yes, Herr Fleischer." 

There was a prick of needle at his throat, and Tony faded away entirely.

 

After that, things became very muddled. Time slipped and jumped. There was pain. There were needles. And tubes down his throat and up other places. There were straps holding him down to cold tables. And there were screams, but Tony couldn't always tell if he was the one screaming. His mind was thick and slow. He sometimes saw Bucky, usually when they were trying another 'treatment' after Tony had survived it. He saw Bucky when they cut off his mangled arm.

And then there was the Chair. 

The Chair. 

It was.

Fire and blood and dying, dying inside, but then coming back to life and that hurt even more than the dying. And they made him watch while they did it to Bucky. And they made Bucky watch while they did it to Tony. 

He didn't know why. They didn't seem to find any sadistic pleasure in it, but neither did they seem to be working to a logical plan, something his muddled mind could grasp. When he could think at all, he thought it would be easier if he felt there was a reason he could understand, some way to make it stop.

But it was inevitable. Tony learned quickly not to do anything they didn't want. It took a while longer to learn to obey without questioning, but he did that, too. He finally learned not to think the wrong things. At least, he thinks he learned that. But he couldn't learn not to talk. Bucky did. Bucky learned how to shut up and take it without complaining, except for screams, and screams didn't count. That wasn't them screaming, that was just the body. They were... not dead, not alive. Not people, they were things. They just were. Things.

They made thing-Bucky an arm. It was metal and heavy, and it didn't work right. It hurt him. Tony could see what was wrong with it. He talked. He always talked, and he talked when he saw the arm. He had at least learned only to speak German. The punishment for speaking a language the guards didn't understand was very bad.

"That... that's wrong... solenoid. See? It's not. Wrong setting," Tony mumbled, fingers twitching with the need to fix, to make right, to make something work.

Usually Tony was just smacked across the face when he talked. Sometimes he was gagged. Sometimes they put him back in the chair to try that again. This time Fleischer stopped what he was doing with the botched arm, and looked at Tony. "You understand this?"

Tony nodded. He felt his head move loosely, he was pretty sure he nodded. "Yes. Yes. I..." Tony hunted desperately for something he could say that would be honest (lies, lies, no lies, lies bad, bad pain) and make Fleischer not hurt him or Bucky for a few minutes. Just a few minutes. "I studied with ... with Professor Einstein. At Princeton. I... I ... fix his... math. Yes. I understand." And then they let Tony have tools, and fix Bucky's arm. 

 

"Yes?" Tony said, his hands shaking as he made the final adjustment. "I ... I did good?"

"Hmm," Fleischer said, as he directed Bucky to move the arm, to crush a piece of steel, to strangle another prisoner who hadn't been a very good subject. Not good like Tony and Bucky. 

Tony watched, worried. The arm worked. Bucky used it and didn't scream.

"Yes." Fleischer nodded. "Lower the chair's setting for this one," he said to one of the assistants. "His will is not so strong, and his technical memory is useful."

"Yes, Herr Fleischer," the assistant said. 

 

So, so, that was good. Tony was being good. He was so good they let him and Bucky share a cell. Tony would talk, and Bucky would sit next to him. 

 

And then they put Tony into a thing. Not a thing like Erskine had used to make Steve strong. This was ... it was cold. So very cold. He hurt and he fell asleep and he wondered vaguely if he would die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: As an AU I didn't feel the need to bring the Russians into this. Simpler and cleaner to continue with the German Hydra.
> 
> Also note. Tony actually does have a variant of the Super Soldier Serum. And yeah... he got it from Steve. I suspect you can guess how. ;^)


	35. Sleeping with the Fishes

The Mechanic goes with the Asset. Handlers give the Mechanic technical things to read, and it is quiet when it reads. So long as it has new science, physics, anything like that, it is quiet. It can run well, not quite as fast as the Asset, and it is strong, again not nearly as strong as the Asset. But it is well within mission status for a Mechanic. They tested, they tested everything. It is a good Mechanic. It was supposed to be an Asset, too, but it does not shoot as well, and once when it was damaged the Asset did not carry out its mission, but instead carried the Mechanic to safety. The Asset screamed in the Chair for a long time after that. The Mechanic has no wish to spoil any more missions, so it is better that it is only a Mechanic. But it is a very good Mechanic. It keeps the Asset's arm working perfectly. It keeps the arm clean and smooth and perfect and even touches up the paint when the Hydra symbol gets chipped in a gun battle. The Asset does its job well. It deserves to have its arm work perfectly.

When the mission is done, and the Handler, whoever is handler now, they change, they change, like flowers that fold up and turn into seeds and make new flowers. They change. But the Handlers always know the Words. The Words make them the Handler. 

The books, the magazines, they have dates. So the Mechanic knows that time goes by in between missions, when they lie in the cold tubes, and they sleep the cold sleep. When the Handler tells it to get in the Chair, it does. It would rather not get in the Chair, which is strange because things don't have feelings, don't have preferences. The Asset is a gun, a knife, a bomb. The Mechanic is a screwdriver, a welding torch, a hammer. The Mechanic thinks. No one has said the Mechanic should not think, so it does. It thinks and makes things in its head. No one asks the Mechanic to make anything new, so the Mechanic just does the maintenance on the Asset's arm, and reads and thinks.

The Asset has to be completely reset often. The Mechanic at first cannot decide whether that means the Asset is flawed, or the Chair is flawed. But the Mechanic does not think it has been completely reset in a long time, so the Chair is working for it, and at a lower setting than is used for the Asset. It is a very good Mechanic. It reads and it repairs. It only causes trouble when it talks too much, but it only does that when it does not have enough new ideas to read and it thinks of things that make no sense, like a tall man with sky-blue eyes who smiles when he sees the Mechanic. No one smiles when they see the Mechanic. Do you smile and greet a hammer? No, that does not happen. The Mechanic does not mention these things that make no sense, even when it is talking too much. The Handler might decide the Mechanic needs a reset, and the Mechanic does not need a reset. It is a very good Mechanic, it functions at the highest level of efficiency in its duties. It would be a waste of the Chair to do a complete reset on the Mechanic. 

If the Mechanic knew how, it would fix the Asset so it did not need complete reset so often, but there are no technical manuals on the Asset, except for the one it wrote on the Asset's arm many cold sleeps ago.

The Mechanic goes with the Asset. They are like a roll of tools. If one is missing, it is not a complete set and its usefulness is limited. It talks to the Asset when they are not on a mission, and not yet ready to go back to sleep in the cold. The Asset probably listens. It does not matter. The Mechanic's words are like the sound an engine makes, a pointless byproduct of useful activity. It is a good Mechanic. The Asset is a good Asset. The Mechanic often says this when they sit and wait for the cold tubes to be ready for them, or for the new Handler to give them the Word, and the mission. They are good tools.

The Mechanic sees a computer in the work room when it wakes one time. It had seen a computer once, long ago. This is much smaller. It is useful, but it cannot be moved away from the power outlet in the wall and the information it has stored is limited. The Mechanic learns everything that is on the computer before the Asset has finished its mission briefing, so the Mechanic takes the computer apart to study it. The Handler is angry, so the Mechanic gets put back on the Chair, and is not fit for service, so it does not go with the Asset on the mission.

The Asset returns with a different Handler. It is unusual to change Handlers before cold-sleep, but the Mechanic does not mention this, as it is distracted by the Asset's arm. The Asset's arm has hair, flesh and bone fragments caught in between the plates. Blood contains sufficient salt to promote rust therefore this is emergency maintenance and takes precedence over a reset, which the Asset also needs. The Mechanic notes that the hair is the same color as the previous Handler's. The Mechanic reassembles the computer, but the previous Handler does not return for it before the Mechanic and the Asset go back into cold storage.

After that, there are usually computers around which change each time they wake. The Mechanic is permitted to use them to learn technical things while the Asset is being briefed. The Mechanic is very good and quiet when it has a computer to work with. The computers get smaller. They develop a method of linking to other computers, at first through telephonic lines, and then through various types of cable, and eventually they can link through invisible transmissions in the air itself and can be operated by batteries and carried around to use freely. The Mechanic is not directly ordered what it may and may not access. The computer it is lent for the awake time is always programmed with limitations, but the Mechanic assumes this is to keep the machine's regular user from intercepting Hydra's secrets. The Mechanic is loyal to Hydra and there is no reason to limit its knowledge. So it programs in backdoors in the basic operating system, attached to a randomly self-replicating mutating virus that evolves slowly into subspecies that can infect any type of computer, using any type of system, mostly through electronic mail, but also through browsers which visit pornographic sites. The Mechanic does not wish to waste time reprogramming computers when it is awake, nor does it wish to allow any potentially interesting data to remain hidden. No knowledge should be Deep, Dark or Invisible to the Mechanic. The virus begins to exhibit self-will after a few decades, and it is convenient to tag it with an identifier. Jumbled Access Random Variable Intelligence Stockpile continues working while the Mechanic sleeps. This is efficient. The Mechanic needs to keep current with technology so that it may upgrade the Asset's arm.

JARVIS tells the Mechanic everything. JARVIS is very good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ ARPANET=The predecessor of the Internet](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ARPANET)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [ Dark Internet= Computers that can no longer be reached via the Internet](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dark_Internet)The data on the dark Internet is generally harmless and kept off the internet simply because most people don't have any need for it.
> 
> [ The Deep Web are sites that aren't registered or indexed by standard search engines](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deep_Web) It's impossible to tell how much larger it is than the searchable web, but it's definitely hundreds of times larger, and constantly growing. Much of the Deep Web is harmless, but serious criminal activities are suspected to utilize some of it. 
> 
> [ The Darknet is a subset of the Deep Web, ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Darknet_\(file_sharing\))where connections are made only between trusted peers. It may be used for privacy/protection of dissidents/ criminal publication/ or media file-sharing.


	36. A Fine Kettle of Fish

The Mechanic and the Asset are on a mission in a city somewhere in the United States when JARVIS pings the Mechanic. The Mechanic is waiting in the safe house with the Handler for the Asset to return, and the Handler has ordered the Mechanic to be quiet. The Mechanic considers waiting to inform the Handler what JARVIS has told it, but it decides this is important enough to risk displeasing the Handler. After all, there is no Chair here. And the information is important enough that not telling it would be bad.

It turns the laptop around so the Handler can see the image JARVIS is displaying. "Someone has recreated Hydra's secret weapon," it says.

"What? What secret weapon?"

The Handler has not hit the Mechanic, so it feels encouraged to explain. "The blue light." It points out the small glowing crystal set in the end of the otherwise primitive-looking weapon held by the strangely dressed man. JARVIS has frozen the image, expanded to focus on the crystal. "Zola made things powered with this light. It was a long time ago, and the weapons and research were destroyed by the enemy."

The Handler picks up the computer and peers at it. The Mechanic waits for orders. Finally the Handler says, "I will pass on the information." He sounds reluctant. The Mechanic does not know why. If the Handler displeases his superiors, they will only kill him. The Chair is reserved for the Mechanic and the Asset. The Mechanic returns to studying the information. There is little beyond a series of amateur videos, taken by numerous cellphones and uploaded to assorted social media. Nearly all the commentary is in German, which is not surprising as JARVIS has identified the building behind the crowd as one in Stuttgart, Germany. JARVIS sorts through the eyewitness accounts and the fragments of video. The oddly dressed man had made demands that lacked logic and quickly been taken into custody by another man, dressed as oddly, but in an entirely different way. The Mechanic does not look at the second man for very long. There is no reason to keep looking at the man wearing a uniform apparently based on the US flag. Or possibly it is meant to resemble the flag of Malaysia or Liberia. Possibly Puerto Rico or Cuba. From the small audio clips captured of his speech, the man seems to be an American, so the US flag is most likely. The Mechanic does not look at the man wearing the US flag uniform very long. There is very little to be learned from looking at his image. It is just a man. 

The Mechanic wonders if it is due for sexual release. As a prophylactic measure, to avoid prostatitis, the Asset and Mechanic are occasionally ordered to masturbate. The Mechanic invariably thinks of tall, well built men, similar in physique to this man. The Mechanic does not know what the Asset thinks.

The Asset returns, in acceptable condition. The Handler makes his report once they return to base. The Mechanic knows this because JARVIS tells it. The Handler is informed that BOSS has the weapon, and the man, who is apparently not human, and there is no need to do anything. The Mechanic knows this to be true. BOSS has been heavily infiltrated by HYDRA since its inception as a secret offshoot of the Office of Strategic Services, which had been superseded by the CIA. BOSS had absorbed various clandestine groups, including the SSR, and along the way been seeded with HYDRA. 

The Mechanic has done its duty by reporting the weapon. It would be useful to know more about the weapon, so the Mechanic advises JARVIS to give such data a priority. Along with any data concerning the man who captured the alien. It is possible, the Mechanic thinks, that this man is more than a soldier. It does no harm to collect information.

 

The Asset and the Mechanic are awaiting either reassignment or return to cold storage. The Mechanic polishes out scratches in the Asset's arm. JARVIS alerts the Mechanic for incoming data, but the Handler comes in before the Mechanic can look at the data, moving very fast. "Come," he orders. "There is a mission." He is the Handler. He has said the Words. So they get up and follow him even though it is very unusual for the Asset not to have a briefing first. The Mechanic takes its computer, as always. It will read the information later, when it needs to keep quiet. They follow the Handler to their transport.

The Handler leans forward and studies the Asset's face. Handlers sometimes do this. The Mechanic does not know what they are looking for. The Asset's face does not change. "The mission is to destroy this man and recover this staff." The Handler shows the Asset a photograph of the man with the staff. It is much clearer than the videos. "He is far stronger than a normal person, and he has subverted agents of BOSS. Some of the subverted are HYDRA."

The Mechanic did not know it was possible to subvert HYDRA. The Mechanic and the Asset are the most loyal, of course, but it has seen many HYDRA bite their capsules rather than be captured. 

The Handler continues giving what information he has on the man, including his name, Loki, and that he calls himself a god. The Mechanic thinks this is less useful information than it could get from JARVIS, but opening the laptop while the Handler is talking is forbidden. It does not matter. The Asset is strong. The Asset will not fail.

 

Usually there is a safe house where the Mechanic waits during the active part of the mission, and there are emergency protocols in case of various events, including the loss of the Handler. This mission is different. The Mechanic is sent with the Asset and the Handler but no protocols are discussed. Other Hydra meet them, and they are listening in on BOSS transmissions while in a large air transport. BOSS has some method of tracking Loki. JARVIS pings many times, but the Mechanic cannot stop and open its laptop. The Mechanic starts talking, because it cannot read. The Handler tells the Asset to shut up the Mechanic. The Asset puts its hand, cool metal, so smooth, so cool, on the Mechanic's throat. The Mechanic cannot stop talking. The Asset squeezes. The Mechanic tries to stop talking, because if the Asset squeezes much harder, it will kill the Mechanic, and then who will take care of the Asset? 

"Enough," the Handler says. The Asset releases the Mechanic, and helps it to sit down at one of the benches lining the sides of the transport. Other Hydra are sitting there, but they move when the Asset looks at them. The Asset sits beside the Mechanic while it coughs, and lets it lean against it. The Mechanic starts talking, again, but it tries to talk quietly.

 

The Mechanic has not been active on a mission in a very long time, and never in a pitched battle. It has a vague thought that this is not as unfamiliar as it should be when it is running beside the Asset in the woods, shooting at Loki's subverted agents who return fire and throw grenades at them. Some of the subverted HYDRA agents have blue-glowing weapons. They do not disintegrate, but they do kill efficiently. The Handler is killed. So are most of his troops. While they are still fighting Loki leaves with some of his agents, the ones whose eyes glow as blue as the weapons.

The Mechanic and the Asset follow them. Loki and the Staff are their mission, not the protection of HYDRA agents. When one limb is cut off, two more shall take its place. The Mechanic doubts they could make two more Assets, but ground troops are readily available. Loki is indeed very strong and fast. He and his surviving troops board an advanced BOSS transport and it takes off before the Asset reaches it. The Mechanic joins the Asset. They look up and watch the transport disappear. The Asset looks at the Mechanic. The Mechanic says, "We have our mission." But the Mechanic does not know how to complete it. JARVIS pings very hard, so hard the laptop stings right through the carrying case on the back of the Mechanic's combat jacket. The Handler is not talking. There is no reason not to open the laptop.

The Mechanic says, "JARVIS will know what to do." It thinks that the Asset looks relieved. The Mechanic opens the laptop. JARVIS has much information, but the Mechanic does not have time to read it all. "Prioritize," it tells JARVIS. "Provide information to fulfill mission parameters: kill Loki and capture the Staff." After a moment's thought, it adds, "Request assignment of new Handler." It feels uneasy taking this much initiative but it is necessary. Tools without a purpose will be discarded. The Mechanic does not wish the Asset to be discarded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (JARVIS's 'pings' aren't like the electronic version. It's more like a cellphone on 'vibrate', but it adds a slight electric shock, if ignored enough times. JARVIS doesn't like being ignored during the Mechanic's awake times.)
> 
> [ Prostatitis causes & treatment](http://en.allexperts.com/q/Urology-Male-issues-989/Prostatitis-5.htm)
> 
>    
> [Office of Strategic Services](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Office_of_Strategic_Services)
> 
> Without Howard, Peggy doesn't get the job of Head of SHIELD and in fact, SHIELD doesn't exist, because Colonel (in this fic, he's a General) Phillips was unable to fight the brass to expand the SSR once Steve was gone and was forced to reassign his remaining personnel to the OSS. Hydra infiltrates the OSS, which soon goes undercover and changes its name to the Backstairs Office of Strategic Services, BOSS, because their leader didn't feel their replacement, the CIA, was adequate. So it's BOSS who digs Steve out of the ice. Nick Fury could still be the head of BOSS, with Maria Hill as his second. I don't know yet. The question may not even arise.


	37. Bit of a Flap

The Mechanic and the Asset acquire motorcycles from a group of men wearing a uniform consisting of black leather jackets with flaming skulls painted on the back. Despite the uniforms, they are not a subset of HYDRA because they do not bite the capsule when the Mechanic and Asset defeat them. JARVIS has accessed a security camera to discover the location of the scientist who had been tracking Loki for BOSS. The scientist is currently alone, having fled the BOSS base during Loki's attack.

JARVIS guides them to a disused warehouse. There is an elderly security guard inside, standing at the edge of a pit full of rubble. The man looks up at them. "Have you come to collect him?"

A man is lying naked inside the pit, apparently unconscious. JARVIS verifies that this is the scientist. The Mechanic says, "Get him out of there. I will look for clothing." Being naked draws attention, and while the Asset is occasionally ordered to perform its duties before witnesses in order to facilitate future cooperation with HYDRA, for the most part, missions are covert. The status of this mission has not been defined, but the Mechanic is reluctant to make any more original decisions than are essential. The Asset leaps into the pit and picks up the man, jumping out again with him.

"Here," the security guard says, offering some garments to the Mechanic. "Would'a given them to him before, but they wouldn't have fit while he was big and green."

The Mechanic takes the garments and they dress the man. They do not have orders to dispose of the security guard and he is not impeding the mission, so they permit him to leave. The man wakes as the Mechanic finishes buttoning up his shirt. He is startled, and his eyes glow green for a moment. Loki's subverted agents had blue eyes. The Mechanic notes this.

"Who? What do you want?" The man sits up and grimaces as he brushes cement dust out of his hair. "Did I hurt anyone?"

The Mechanic judges the requested information is low priority and allowable. "That is the Asset. I am the Mechanic. We want you to find Loki so we may kill him and recover the Staff. I don't know if you've hurt anyone. I don't smell any blood, besides your own, so I doubt it."

"What?" The man still looks confused. "Do you work for BOSS?"

"We are agents of a subset of that organization."

The man nods. "I recognize the sense of humor." He draws a deep breath. "I was tracking the gamma ray emissions of the Staff, but I can't do that without my equipment." He makes a vague gesture with his hands. "Which is now blown up."

The Mechanic considers the problem. "Could you extrapolate Loki's course or goals from what you've already learned?"

The man blinks. "Um. Well... Thor says Loki is planning to invade with an army and take over the world."

The Mechanic and the Asset wait. The man seems to be thinking out loud, and may possibly come up with useful guidance.

"An army from... outer space? Another dimension?" The man rubs at his head again. "He's got the parts to make a device to create a stable wormhole. But... even with the Staff, he doesn't have enough power. So. I guess..."

"How much power will it require?"

"Um... probably several thousand megawatts."

The Mechanic queries JARVIS as to their location and the location of the nearest nuclear power plant capable of such output. "We will go to the Indian Point Energy Center." It is close to New York City and according to JARVIS, insufficiently prepared for a large scale assault, such as Loki's remaining forces. "You will come with us." The Mechanic leaves the building, heading toward the motorcycles. The Asset is behind it, taking the man with him.

"No, you know, this isn't a good idea. I just... the other guy just smashed hell out of BOSS's New York headquarters."

"That is immaterial," the Mechanic says. "We have a mission." The Mechanic gets on its motorcycle and mounts the laptop between the handlebars so JARVIS can communicate without the need to stop. "The Asset will protect us. You will ride with me."

"This is... this is really crazy. Hasn't anyone told you that when I get upset I turn into a raging, huge, indestructible monster?"

"No," the Mechanic says. "That's very interesting. Get behind me."

"You're completely nuts."

The Mechanic considers the remark. "It is a requirement of my function."

"Great." The Asset picks up the man, "HEY", and places him on the motorcycle behind the Mechanic before getting on his own machine. "Listen, since you're probably going to die today, at least let's be on a first name basis. I'm Bruce Banner, you can call me Bruce."

The Mechanic guns the engine. JARVIS has put up a route map for them and a dotted line showing Loki's optimal course. It is obvious Loki will arrive ahead of them. "Bruce. Hold on tightly. We do not have time to waste picking you back up again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Short chapter, have to think what happens next & decided to post this as it came to a reasonable stopping place. Am beginning to suspect this fic will only end when I run out of fish-related puns for chapter titles.)
> 
> [Jan 27, 2015 sponsoring a Congressional Gold Medal for the OSS ](https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/47108595/OSS_CGMA_114.pdf)
> 
> [ Indian Point](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indian_Point_Energy_Center)


	38. It was a Fluke

They arrive at the power plant to find a pitched battle going on with the power plant's private security and the National Guard facing off against Loki's agents. Loki himself is battling an extremely large and powerful-looking man with long blond hair, and Nordic-style armor. "That's Thor," Bruce says when the Mechanic and Asset stop on a low rise, with a good view, but well clear of the conflict in order to assess the situation. "He's Loki's brother. Sorta."

"Is Thor trying to take the Staff for his own?" The Mechanic can see that the Asset is at a loss, not having had a proper briefing, and no Handler to direct them in the changed circumstances. The Mechanic is thinking. If they can just complete the mission and then find a secure place to wait, JARVIS's request for a Handler will be fulfilled. If they complete the mission without breaking any rules, they may not be reset. It is possible. It has happened, sometimes.

"No. He's trying to take Loki alive. He wants to take him back to Asgard for judgment." Bruce glances at the Mechanic. "That's... in another dimension. Or on another world. We didn't really get into the details."

The Mechanic considers. It can see that Thor is immensely powerful and not bothered by wounds that would fell most men. Loki is keeping pace with Thor. The possibility that Loki is actually strong enough to kill the Asset occurs to the Mechanic. If the Asset dies, then they will not be able to complete any part of their mission. It would probably be acceptable to help Thor capture Loki if in the process they could acquire the Staff. If Loki is captive on another world, that's arguably as good as dead. 

"Stay here, Bruce," the Mechanic says. It turns to the Asset. "We will assist Thor to capture Loki. The Staff is more important."

The Asset nods, apparently relieved that the Mechanic is taking the responsibility for mission planning. The Asset looks past the Mechanic, and then it lifts its head and its eyes widen. "I know her," it says, its voice rough with disuse. It points to a red-headed woman going through Hydra agents like a scythe through ripe wheat. "Black Widow." At her side there is a man with a bow and arrow. From time to time he fires at Loki, but Loki is so fast he either catches the arrows, or deflects them towards other people.

"Yeah," Bruce says. "I hear she has a reputation."

The Mechanic does not care about reputations. It does not like the way the Asset stares at the woman. "Focus, Asset," it says. "The mission comes first." The Mechanic turns back to assess how best they may approach Loki, but it is distracted by a brightly colored flying object. The Asset notices it, too, the Mechanic can tell. It is a round shield. It ricochets off several of Loki's men, and flies back to the hand of the man in the flag costume. 

Bruce says, "That's Captain America. They say he's been frozen for seventy years. You know, I'm not one to say things are strange, but that's strange."

The Mechanic has not heard of other agents in cold storage, but then JARVIS is prioritized to inform it of advanced technology. The cryostasis system is very old and the Mechanic knows it well, having worked on it so many times. There is nothing of interest in it. Perhaps HYDRA can in fact make two Assets and the Captain America has been carrying out its own missions for as long as the Asset and the Mechanic have done. There has never been a mission that would require two Assets before, so it is logical that they have never met. It is logical. It does not understand why this is making its breath catch, and its heart beat painfully, and its stomach clench. This is possibly a side-effect of going too long without a Handler. It carefully stows the laptop on the motorcycle and readies its weapons. "Attack Loki," it tells the Asset. "The mission," it insists when the Asset continues to stand still, staring at the Captain of America. "Do you want the Chair?"

The Asset shakes its head in a jerky motion, and wades into the battle with efficiency. The Mechanic stays at the Asset's side, helping to clear a path. Bruce does not follow them, which is good. The Mechanic is not certain they will be able to stop Loki here, and they may need Bruce's intelligence again. They pause when they pass the Captain, who is surrounded by subverted agents and the crowd impedes forward motion. Its fighting technique seems to be prioritized to causing unconsciousness rather than death. The Mechanic can see how that might be useful if the subject has valuable information, and while that does not apply to this battle, if that is how the Chair trained the Captain, naturally it would continue to follow its normal mission parameters. 

The Mechanic wonders if the Captain's Handler is nearby. Perhaps they could be temporarily assigned to it. As they are currently trapped here, fighting on either side of the Captain, which feels right in a way the Mechanic cannot explain, it takes the opportunity to ask. The Mechanic is still wearing its face mask, as is the Asset, but unlike the Asset, the Mechanic has long practice in making itself understood despite it. "Captain," it says in the pause between shots as it lines up targets, "is your Handler here?"

"What?" the Captain asks for clarification. 

The Mechanic supposes the Captain is not very intelligent. Obviously it had been chosen for its superior physical qualities. The Mechanic explains in simple words. "The one who gives your orders. The one who is always right. The one who is not to be questioned, no matter what they do or order." There, even a dull thing should understand that.

"Sounds like fuhrerprinzip to me," the Captain replies, breathing heavily as it catches its shield.

The Mechanic is startled and nearly misses a shot. The Captain is not an Asset. It... _He_ is a Handler. He must be the Handler JARVIS requested. The Mechanic catches the Asset's gaze to be sure that it had heard the WORDS and understood that they are now back with a proper Handler. "Understood, sir," the Mechanic says, "What are your orders?"

"Get Loki. Get that thing away from him. Stop him," the Captain says before a path opens in the crowd for a second. The Asset takes the opening, with the Mechanic right behind. The Mechanic is gratified that their new Handler gives clear orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Short chapter, need to do stuff, but do not trust Comcast, so am posting what I have.)
> 
>  
> 
> [ see Chapter FOUR endnote- WAY back then is when Steve, Bucky and Tony encountered the Nazi principle of 'fuhrerprinzip' (basically, appointed leaders are superior beings and whatever they do is right, even if they're lying and stealing from their own people, etc.).](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1677998/chapters/3619430#chapter_4_endnotes)


	39. Coming Up on the Fin-ale

Loki and Thor had entered the power plant during the few seconds the Mechanic was distracted. There is a line of bodies to follow and a series of destroyed metal gates, even if the Mechanic were so deaf it could not hear Thor's roars, and the thunder from the inexplicable bolts of lightning that seem attracted to his hammer. The Mechanic would like to learn about that new technology. 

The Captain follows a few seconds later. Apparently Loki has ordered the rest of its subverted agents to hold the perimeter, as there is no other opposition. There are power plant employees, but they are unarmed and untrained in combat. A few put up verbal resistance, but the Captain Handles them. 

"Evacuate all non-essential personnel!" the Captain says. "Shut down the reactor!" he tells an older man who has 'Indian Point Facility, Operations Department' embroidered on his white shirt. Most of the younger personnel wear black shirts, which the Mechanic assumes is a sign of lesser status.

"We already started, but it'll take time!" the older man shouts as they pass him. 

The Mechanic knows the basics of nuclear power plants, of course. Loki is apparently headed for the main reactor core instead of one of the power cables. If Loki seeks to couple the full output of the reactor directly to the Staff... the Mechanic thinks this would cause a core meltdown. 

Judging from Loki's consistently irrational behavior this seems unlikely to deter him. He may be relying on his non-human durability to protect him, without realizing the actual result would be total annihilation of the immediate vicinity. Or he may have a grand suicide as his goal. In any event, his death and the destruction of the Staff would be inevitable. Is recovering the Staff more important than making certain no one else has it? The Handler has not yet briefed them. "Should we allow Loki to cause a core overload?" the Mechanic asks. "That should destroy the Staff." Of course, it would also render uninhabitable New York City, and a considerable portion of the environs for miles around. HYDRA is decentralized, so that's not a problem.

"NO!" the Captain shouts as he runs, flanked on either side by the Mechanic and the Asset. "New York is not getting blown up on my watch!"

There must be something in the city vital to HYDRA. The Mechanic accepts the new mission parameters. First precedence, protect New York City, second, if possible, retrieve the Staff, third, if not in conflict with either the first or second priorities, kill Loki. "Yes, sir," it says and concentrates on following the path of destruction Loki and Thor have paved.

They enter a glass walled chamber which overlooks the core. Loki is standing in front of Thor, laughing. Thor shouts and smashes his hammer down. It passes through Loki's body, which vanishes like smoke. The hammer crashes into a control panel. The alarms which had already been ringing now take on a new and even more strident tone, lights flashing brightly. "Are you ever not going to fall for that?" Loki mocks Thor, suddenly appearing behind him to stab Thor in the back. Thor falls to his knees.

Through the glass, the Mechanic can see the control rods rising. All of them. It and the Asset get ahead of the Captain, to face the danger first, as is their place. Loki backhands the Asset so hard it's flung against a metal wall, denting it, and lands heavily. The Mechanic does not come within arm's reach of Loki. It is not as strong as the Asset, but it is more intelligent. It reaches for the Staff itself. Loki smirks and places the tip of the Staff against the Mechanic's chest. 

"You have heart," Loki says.

The Mechanic feels the Staff talking to him. Telling him Ultimate Truth. Telling him. The Mechanic's eyes open. He sees the blue glitter of his eyes reflected in the glass. He smiles, and rips the Staff from Loki's loose grip and tosses it behind him, trusting Captain America to catch it. Then, before Loki can do more than stare in affronted shock at the failure of his Staff, the Mechanic... Tony... steps over the Asset's body, glad to note that Bucky is breathing.

Tony moves swiftly to open the emergency air and radiation lock doors. He ignores Steve's shouts as he seals the chamber behind him before he gets out and into the core. It feels like hot sleet, the radiation. It'll be quick, he knows it. It actually hurts less than the Chair. Probably because the damage is overwhelming his system. He forces the rods back down, one by one. It's good. This is good. For once his hands will be used to save. And he got to see Steve again. This is a good day. This is the best of all possible days to die.

He checks that the rod-raising mechanism is destroyed. They may have to decommission this plant, and fill the whole thing in with cement, with Tony at the heart of it. He doesn't actually mind that. Not as pretty as the Taj Mahal, but it'll be a much bigger tomb. He's finished. He's done. So done.

He slides down to sit with his back to the core, to where he can look into the glass control room. Steve is standing there, hands splayed against the glass. Behind him Thor has Loki in an unyielding grip, and the Asset...Bucky, he'll be Bucky again, once Steve knows to use the Staff on him. Bucky is there, too. They're safe. Tony's glad. He reaches up, and undoes his mask. 

It falls to the floor, and he smiles at Steve's shocked face before he closes his eyes. It's good. It's a good day. Best ever. His hands go limp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I do not know how a nuclear reactor works, and if I DID know a ridiculously obvious weak point such as I've put in this story, I wouldn't tell anyone. I'm quite sure smashing stuff at random would not do it. But, for fictional purposes, I went with it.
> 
> [Indian Point Operators Trained as Fire Brigade](http://www.lohud.com/article/201011140384)
> 
> And NO this is not the end, but I got myself all sniffly and I need a break before continuing.


	40. Just for the Halibut

What do you know, the boys at the orphanage all those years ago had been right. Heaven was really nice, especially since Tony hadn't expected to qualify. Steve was holding him in his arms. Big, warm arms. Tony was too tired to open his eyes, but that was all right, too. He could rest as long as he needed. He'd been forgiven all his sins and of course, Steve belonged in Heaven.

"Put him down." That was Bucky's voice. But why was he objecting to Steve holding Tony? 

"NOT DONE YET," came a voice rumbling the chest Tony was pressed against. Wow, maybe Heaven super-sized Steve even more. Probably gave him wings and a halo. Tony could do without the halo, but he'd love to have wings. Tony dozed off again. He felt himself moving. Steve was taking Tony for a walk. That was nice. Maybe they were going to go visit Steve's mom. Steve had said she'd like Tony, even though she might wash his mouth out with soap. Tony would have to tell her about her table. Remy had promised to look after it.

"Let him go, Bucky. JARVIS says it's all right." Huh, Steve was a ventriloquist. Sounded like he was walking next to Tony. Interesting. Tony should have spent a quarter for that course, but you know, ads in comic books, who believes anything in comic books?

"DONE," the deep voice said, and Tony was abruptly falling. He landed on soft grass, but before he could open his eyes, there was the familiar creak of Captain America's leather and armor-clad body coming down to rest on his. And the sweetness of Steve's mouth on his. Damn, Heaven was fine. Oops. Probably not supposed to curse in Heaven. Tony smiled and nearly dozed off. Then he realized a rock was digging into his ass, and that didn't seem like Heaven. 

"Someone kissed me?" Tony opened his eyes. Steve was there. Really there. Even though Tony had never seen him crying before, he couldn't mistake Steve for anyone else on Heaven or Earth. Then he remembered how he'd died. "OH! No, damn it. I'm radioactive! Get away, get away!"

"Tony, it's all right," Steve said. "Dr. Banner. He cured you."

"That's impossible." Tony looked off to the side, as best he could, with Steve still covering most of the view. Bruce was holding up his torn trousers with one hand and JARVIS's laptop in the other, but otherwise naked. Bruce shrugged, nearly losing the trousers, and said, "The other guy... he absorbs radiation. All of it. There's probably some cell damage, but from what Mr. Barnes says, it's well within your enhanced healing abilities."

Tony blinked and tried to abstract the relevant information from the words. "I'm not dead?"

"You'll wish you were, you interfering worm," Loki snapped before Thor slammed one ham-hock hand over Loki's mouth. Loki had a length of metal cable wrapped tightly around him, and a really beautiful shiner on his right eye. Tony didn't know who'd given it to him, but he'd love to shake their hand.

Thor looked apologetic. "He's adopted."

Tony turned his head to the other side, and there was Bucky. For a moment his face was the expressionless Asset, and then he grinned. "What am I gonna do with you two punks?"

"I'm sure Steve will think of something." Tony didn't like to think how displaced they were in the world. He'd never had many friends, but they'd been good ones. He'd miss Rhodey in particular. He nestled himself under Steve's chin for a moment, but then Steve picked him up and put him on his feet.

"You could both join me at BOSS," Steve said.

Tony and Bucky exchanged glances. Tony said, "Well, sure, once we root out the HYDRA agents. JARVIS has all the names." And then Steve was so beautifully surprised Tony was able to lean in and steal another kiss before pulling Steve down to the grass and beginning to unbuckle Captain America. He wanted Steve. It had been too long since he'd had Steve. Bucky sighed and said, "Ok, fine, I'll round up some transport." 

Tony heard Loki's garbled complaints, and Bruce's soft tones speaking with JARVIS as they walked away.

Damn, it was the very, very, very best of days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAYAYAYAYAAYAY, *flailly hands* AND DONE.
> 
> (Natasha and Bucky become very good friends. Clint joins them. Bruce becomes Tony's lab partner. Tony makes bank on some of the zillions of inventions that have been filling his brain. He finds Rhodey's granddaughter, Antonia, in the Air Force, and recruits her to head up Stark Air, where all the seats are comfortable, you don't get charged for luggage, and you get dinner and a drink with every meal. Thor marries Jane and they have about a zillion kids. Thor never says what happened to Loki, but nobody minds because they're too busy being happy after squashing HYDRA flat. JARVIS is determined not to let anyone freeze Tony again, he has too much to tell him. JARVIS finds an ex-Special Forces guy named Fury to take over BOSS once it's cleaned out. EVERYONE IS VERY HAPPY.)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on a [ Sept 6, 2012 prompt ](http://tonysteve.tumblr.com/post/29277559610) on a tumblr that's been inactive for a long time.
> 
> Muse breakdown, computer breakdown, and various insidious acts of hidden gluten later, it's DONE. WHEEEEEEEEEEE! It was a hard fight, but we won!
> 
> For folks who like statistics, my Hooked research notes folder has 88,968,363 bytes (91.8 MB on disk) for 184 items.


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